DMRS Draco Malfoy Rescue Squad
by ArtisticAngel411
Summary: Post-war/Hogwarts. The Malfoys are stuck in Azkaban after crimes during the war. Their Trial is looming and their only hope of not getting the Kiss, is Harry and his friends. Fudge and Umbridge are back! WARNING: Slight depression/beating of characters
1. Chapter 1 The Happenings in a Grimy Cell

**_A/N_: This is my first fic that I'm writing. I'm normally a 'reader'. So... wish me luck!**

**_Disclaimer_: I don't own Harry Potter nor any of the characters, that privilege is J.K Rowling's alone. But it'd be cool if I did!**

**_P.S:_ Don't like, don't read.**

**DMRS (Draco Malfoy Rescue Squad)**

**Chapter 1: The Happenings in a Grimy Cell**

"_Come Here, Draco" Hissed the malevolent form of the Dark Lord. "Come bow at my feet, and grovel where you belong."_

_The boy called Draco did quickly what was bid of him, no matter how degrading._

"_Crucio!" cried the Dark Lord out of a desire to fulfill a whim for amusement. _

_Draco cried out in unendurable agony…_

Draco found himself being slammed back into reality, into consciousness, shaking for all he was worth. '_It was just a dream.'_ He thought with minimal relief, for he found himself back in his grimy cell. The holding spot itself should be condemned for its lack of hygiene, let alone health hazards, and total absence of decent food, water, and light.

It was a 4 by 4 meter room, with 6 meters from floor to ceiling. The walls' tiling (if you could call it that) was cracked, crumbling, and in a state of disrepair. It had one dreary lamp hanging centimeters out of the ceiling, with a dim light bulb in it, casting an iridescent, and eerie glow.(Draco personally thought he would do better without its depressing existence.) The guards apparently felt he would fare well enough without a bed, for he only had a hard, rough tarp to lie down on at night.(No wonder why he had nightmares…) Then, of course, there was also the constant _drip drip_, from the leaking pipe works overhead, that consequently sounded to Draco like the beating of an executioner's drum.

Draco gave a disgusted snort. This was what the Great, Ever Powerful Malfoys had been brought down to. How disgraceful.

His mother and father were in different holding cells than his. They were separated, never seeing each other since their capture after The Final Great Battle. Draco's last memory of his father was of him fighting futilely against 10 or so Aurors, to protect his family, and prevent them from being shipped off to Azkaban, while his mother was holding onto Draco with a death grip.

_Father…_

_Mother…_

Lucius Malfoy… arrogant, cold, classy, stuck-up, aristocratic, full of flare, and with a hunger for expensive things.

Narccisa Malfoy… cold, arrogant, classy, delicate, picturesque, stuck-up, aristocratic, and a taste for… the rarer items of life.

His parents…

His parents that were murderers…

His parents that were misunderstood…

His parents that loved him…

His parents, that are in Azkaban with him…

His parents, whom he will probably never see again…

_Dementors! _Draco realized. _They must just be getting around to 'checking up' on the prisoners for me to be having these dismal thoughts after just waking up!_

_Bloody hell,_ a thought just decided to pay Draco a visit. _That means at any moment, they'll be coming by me! I just _can't _go through those memories _again_! Not again. Not again. Never. Never. Never ever again. I can't. I'll die... I'll be ripped apart… no one there to pick up the poor scattered pieces of Draco Lucius Malfoy…_

He was 3, and his parents were quite distraught about something that he did not understand. Narcissa's hair was frizzy, her face red and covered in tear tracks, with Lucius's hand lain comfortingly on her shoulder, face stony. "Do not fret, my dear Narcissa. When the Dark Lord returns, he will liberate your beloved sister from the clutches of Azkaban. It will be one of the first things _he _does. I'm sure of it," Lucius whispered into his wife's ear…

He was 5, and he drew a picture of an elf. It looked more like a bowling ball perched on a mutated cucumber, crushing two very unfortunate bananas, but it was pure Draco Malfoy, (at the time). He had been very proud of his drawing, and thrice tried to present it to his father, but was denied his ever important attention. Finally, at dinner, he had his father cornered, and thrust the parchment in front of his plate, so as not to be overlooked. His father picked it up, and stared down his nose at it with disdain._ "This _is the reason you have been pestering me all day?_ This coconut, assisting a cucumber squash these pathetic bananas?" _Lucius ground out.

" It is an _elf_, father, not a banana cucumbery thing," Draco stated softly, hurt.

"You are a Malfoy, and it is time you started _acting_ like one. Malfoys don't _draw anything, _we have other, lesser people do that for us. If you absolutely_ must _do your incessant little scribbles, draw things of actual importance, like the _Urn of Tormented Souls_, for example, but never an_ elf_._" _Lucius hissed, voice full of venom.

"Yes, father," Draco said in a small voice…

Draco was 7 years old, and had snuck into his father's private study out of curiosity. He should be safe for the time being, for his mother and father had guests that night, which, they were now dining with.

He would just take a quick little peek around, and then get out. No one would ever know.

Wrong.

He hadn't been in the room for 5 seconds, before a hand lay heavily on his shoulder.

Draco gulped.

The hand tightened, and, in one swift motion, swung him around so he could come face to face with the enraged, usually mask like, face of his father.

None of them said a word. His father dragged him down to where the dungeons resided, and Draco just silently let him.

When they arrived at their destination, Lucius threw the door open, traipsed down the steps, son in tow, flung his son onto the wall, and chains wove around him of their own accord.

"This is your punishment, Draco, for wandering around in places you shouldn't be in; for falling prey to an idle mind and a fool's curiosity. You shall spend the remainder of the night in here."

Draco couldn't help it, and let a traitorous tear escape, betraying the cool expression all Malfoys are taught before they can even talk.

A malevolent grin twisted Lucius's lips at this. "What is this, Draco? This sign of weakness? I have taught you better than that, surely? Malfoys don't cry. Malfoys don't show such pitiful things as tears. As I have said before, and am saying now, _it is time you start __**acting **__like a Malfoy_! Malfoys respect their superiors, and I would have hoped you would have respected yours. If I had not had the urge to come up and retrieve a rare item from my personal storage-" Lucius cut himself off before he could continue. "Goodnight Draco, sleep tight," Lucius said, with the kind of smile that would give anyone a reason to fear the dark.

Draco hadn't let any other tears slide past his visage while in the presence of his father, but in his absence, with the chains cutting and digging into his flesh, Draco cried himself to sleep…

Draco was a fine looking boy at age 10. At the moment, he was playing host for his father's 'friends'' kids. They were his age, so, that part was okay. But that Blaise guy looked as if he owned the place; Vincent, and Gregory looked as if their closest relatives were the stones surrounding the Manor, and the only things they could possibly have a conversation with; while the only girl, this Pansy chick, kept _falling all over him_. It was quite disconcerting, really, but that stupid Zabini bloke found it hilarious.

Draco knew that these were whom his father had picked to be Draco's 'friends'. Crabbe and Goyle would be more of lackeys than friends; Zabini was more of a pain than anything else, and Draco wasn't sure how much longer he could abstain from shoving one of the hors d'oeuvres down his throat, to shut him up; and that Parkenson… well, at least Zabini knows how to stand on the two feet the good God gave him. They would never be his real friends, if there was such a thing.

Draco knew two very important facts; 1, he would be sorted into Slythern when he attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the best House in the entire school; and fact number 2, no one wants to be friends with a Slythern, not even the Slytherns themselves. Slytherns never had true friends, they just stuck together, because they were all they had. But everyone knew Slytherns would turn on each other in an instant, because they were filthy cowards, and who knew no honor. His parents were both Slytherns, and only married to continue their bloodlines.

That was the day Draco realized that he was completely, and utterly alone…

Draco was looking down at his hand that was just refused by Harry Potter. _The_ Harry Potter. His only hope of a real friend, whisked away in the shape of a red-headed, freckled, poor, _Weasley…_

Draco's worst fear was confirmed, as he walked toward the table, with a smirk on his face that didn't fit his true feelings. He had been Sorted into Slythern…

Draco was forcing down the uncomfortable feelings that were arising in him as he walked toward the dungeons, where he would sleep. It was an all too familiar scene to him, for his liking…

Draco was walking the Forbidden Forest with _Potter_ _**because**_ of _Potter_. Stupid dragon prank! Stupid Potter! Stupid, yucky, forest, messing up my new trainers! Stupid dim lamp! Stupid _effing_ _detention_! Stupid figure bending over and drinking unicorn bloo- crap…

Draco was faced at wand point, by Potter. Potter had bested him _again!_ Stupid _youngest seeker in the century!_

A gigantic beast of a stag charged down Draco, Crabbe, Goyle, and Montaque, who were tripped up in long, dementor-like robes. They had failed in their task of throwing Potter off his game with their appearance. Now they had a fuming McGonagal throwing the book at them, while Potter watched with an almighty grin on his face, with Weasel beside him, laughing like a sick pig( doubled over with all fours on the ground too.) How appalling. Laughing and standing there like that, shouldn't even be _legal!_

Draco had been perfectly minding his own business, when that Granger girl, for no apparent reason whatsoever, had decided to punch his face in. Oh, wait until his father heard about this. That filthy, rabid Hippogriff loving, Mudblood would get hers. Yes she will…

Draco was home for the summer holidays, and his father had been proud of his end of the year report card. That is, until he had heard that the Mudblood had gotten better than his son, and promptly tore the report into little pieces, until the parchment was unrecognizable, then, for good measure, tossed the microscopic confetti into the fire. Son and father watched as the flames devoured the little scraps with unreadable expressions on their faces, each absorbed in their own dismal thoughts…

Potter finally revealed his little adventure in the graveyard in the _Quibbler, _incriminating his father to be a Death Eater. Potter would pay for this. Oh, yes, Potter would pay for this indeed…

Slug-Draco mundanely presented himself to his mother, who screamed like a person, who, in all their life had kept all their screams bottled up for such an occasion, as when their son turned up as a slug…

Draco's father was sent to Azkaban for associating with a Death Eater group found in the Department of Mysteries…

The Dark Lord was surveying Draco with a look that would make the Boogie Man check under his bed at night. After an eon of staring at _that _face, the Dark Lord broke the thick as mud silence. "Yes, Bellatrix, I believe he will do nicely in the task I require of him." He purred in a voice that would make a snake's blood run cold. He then turned to face Draco himself, who was now wishing the Hippogriff in third year _had _killed him. "Now, Draco, you wish to redeem the Malfoy name after your father's butchery of the mission I so required of him, and my most loyal Death Eaters at the Ministry, yes?" It was more of a challenge than anything else. Draco nodded his head stiffly. "Good. What your mission shall be, is to kill the Light's great leader.

"Oh, no, not Harry Potter, Malfoy. Potter is _mine _to dispose of, and mine alone." The Dark Lord explained due to the look of horror metastasizing across the young boy's face. "You are to dispatch Dumbledore. Draco, mark my words, if you fail me, you and your family will be of no use to me any more and I will get rid of you myself. Now leave me."

Draco didn't have to be told twice…

As Draco sat there, at the Slythern table, he watched the looks of joy on all of the idiotic Griffindors' faces, but most of all, the Golden Trio's. As he watched them, he felt that all alone- feeling threatening to overtake him. _It must be nice to have such good friends as those, _Draco thought, and for one insane moment, wished to be part of that joy, happiness and love. But Draco knew that it was a crazed and stupid thought born out of the desperation of his situation. Besides, Potter and his friends utterly despised every living particle that made up Draco Malfoy. At least that would never change…

The memories were going faster now; so fast that Draco caught glimpses of each memory, but seeing them all as if in slow motion, never missing a detail.

Frenrier Greyback…

Vanishing cabinet…

Dark Mark…

Fear…

Helplessness…

1 week, 1 chance left…

Stupid Potter…

Snape on his neck…

Crying with Moaning Myrtle…

Bleeding dry in the bathroom…

Face to face with Dumbledore, with the latter at a slowly lowering wand point…

Dumbledore, falling out the back of the Astronomy Tower, void of all life…

Running along with the cheering Death Eaters, watching them destroy the only sanctuary he had ever known…

Imprisoned in his own home, forced to torture, or be tortured, watch murder, or be murdered…

Potter and his friends lying feebly on his floor, forcing him to make one of his hardest decisions yet…

Running into Potter in the Room of Requirement, said Room eventually erupting into literally alive, and deadly flames…

Clinging onto Potter for dear life as they race on broomstick out of the burning room…

Crabbe dead…

Being separated from his family and thrown into his current situation in Azkaban...

Draco sat against one of the walls, a sheen of sweat covering him, and carelessly threw his head back, consequently cracking his skull against the hard stone. But the sharp pain this action caused, dulled in comparison to the mental pain he was currently going through.

_Crabbe… Dead because of me. Gone forever. Just ashes in the wind…_

_Goyle… Probably already suffered the Dementor's Kiss, after his trial two days ago. _

_Pansy… Died in the Great Battle of Hogwarts._

_My fault; all my fault. They weren't really my friends, just really close acquaintances, but, they were all I had…_

_Blaise… I don't even know _what _happened to him!_

_Plus, my trial is supposedly in a few days! What am I going to _do_?! No one wants to defend Death Eaters! Going to the Trials without a lawyer to back me up... it's suicidal! _

Draco, slipping further into his depression, quickly entertained a little thought with slight amusement. _I _really_ need a psychiatrist! _

**_A/N: _That's it for the first chapter of DMRS! I hope you liked it! It mostly just explained Draco's current situation and what-not, but I still enjoyed writing it! The next chapter will be in Harry's view, and I'll try to get it out ASAP! I might get it out sooner though, if you were to Review...**


	2. Chapter 2 The Daily Prophet

_**A/N**_**: well, here's the next chapter like I promised! Thanks again for the reviews, they really make my day! ****Crosses fingers that everyone likes it!**

**Disclaimer: Don't own Harry Potter, only my plot line.**

**WARNING: Signs of Fluff!**

DMRS- Chapter 2- The _Daily Prophet_

Harry sighed as he was awoken by the incessant tapping of something on his window, which held no respect for the wee hours of the morning. He reached over to his nightstand to retrieve his glasses and wand. After pressing his spectacles upon his face, he took his wand, and, pointing it nowhere in particular, muttered, "_Tempus_". It was officially 8:03 a.m. _Wonderful._

Once he was sure his mind had finally taken its leave of the world of dreams, Harry forced himself out of his bed in a way that would make a zombie mother proud.

Harry trudged mundanely over to the window and quickly found out that an owl carrying the _Daily Prophet _was the perpetrator to the agitating sound. When Harry opened the window, the owl nipped at his fingers for making it wait outside for as long as it did. "Sorry," Harry mumbled sleepily, shaking the pain out of his hand.

He quickly paid the aggravated bird after that, and then bid it a not-too-fond-farewell.

Harry haphazardly threw the morning paper on his bed where it almost fell into the _Disintegrator Trash Bin,_ while he made his way out his door to the bathroom across the hall, in order to get ready for another day at Number 12 Grimmauld Place.

Once he was refreshed and ready to face the new day and whatever it planned to throw at him, he made his way downstairs to eat breakfast and finally read the _Prophet_. His friends were staying in his house over the summer to bond. When he appeared in the kitchen, he found out that he was the only one currently awake in the house. Well, aside from Kreacher, that is. The elf had apparently heard him while he was out-and-about upstairs, for he had made Harry his breakfast. Nice, steaming, hot, scrambled eggs, with some bacon, and 2 flap-jacks that had a mound of melted butter sliding its way down the mini-slope. A delightful pool of syrup surrounded the meal, causing Harry's sweet-tooth to kick into gear, revving to get a move on. He quickly sat down, and began to tear into his food with ravenous bites that would put a starving hyena to shame.

Harry was sub-consciously aware of Ginny entering the dismal kitchen, her hand brushing against his back. Harry quickly swallowed, and, beaming up at her, he said, "Hello, Ginny. Lovely day, isn't it?" Harry made this statement, even if he hadn't yet looked outside once that day. Every day was lovely, as long as he had Ginny in his presence.

"'Morning, Harry." Then, while laughing, she smugly noted, "Harry, is it, or is it not raining outside?" Harry blinked. Harry blinked again. Harry thought for a moment.

"Well, it's a lovely day for the dehydrated plants and animals then," Harry stated, point blank. Ginny proceeded to roll her eyes, and commenced eating her own breakfast, which Kreacher had brought in the second that Ginny walked through the kitchen door. The elf left the kitchen after hearing their interesting word swap, chuckling and muttering to himself about how dull lovers' quarrels are now-a-days.

But the fact was, Ginny and Harry weren't lovers. There was definitely love, just not love in that respect. During the war, and their time apart, Ginny had found someone else who made her heart sing and feel complete.

He was the one, and only, Neville Longbottom. To his friends, he was known as Neville. To people of higher regards, and the people who wanted to tie him down, and kill him ten times over, he was Longbottom. He was also Harry's pal who took control of the DA, alongside Ginny Weasley and Luna Lovegood, in his absence. Neville was a good person and you'd have to have no compassion and a deep dark abyss where your heart should be, not to forgive Neville, no matter what he did. And that's exactly what Harry did, after Neville took Ginny away from him, he forgave him. Well, Harry _did_ break up with _her_, but that was only to protect her from Voldemort; they would get back together after the war, or so they had planned. It had taken Harry a month to forgive Ginny and move on, but he did. They were now just close friends in a sister-brother relationship, even if they both still hold that little candle for each other, both apparently unaware of its existence not only in the other, but within themselves.

About a quarter hour later, Ron and Hermione decided to join Harry and Ginny in the kitchen, which also now held their breakfasts as well, courtesy of Kreacher. When Ron saw his meal, he swiftly began to transport it from his plate, to his stomach. Hermione sat squashed between Ron and Harry, a slight smirk slowly making its home on her face. "Ron, if you don't slow down with all of that eating, you going to choke on a piece that hasn't been chewed properly!" Hermione's voice was full of scorn, but if one knew how to listen suitably, they would hear the underlying affection in her voice.

"Awww, but Hermione, with you here~ you being such a great witch and all~ it wouldn't be possible for me to choke in your presence. You'd know what do." Ron then added, for good measure, "After all, you always do."

"Ron, stop trying to soften me up with flattery. It won't work," Hermione said this as she was ducking down her head to keep her face out of view, to hide the slight blush flourishing on her cheeks. Obviously, it was working.

After that, Harry and Ron got caught up in a discussion about Quidditch, which Hermione tuned out of (If the glazed over look in her eyes was anything to go by), and which Ginny, eagerly joined in. About a half hour later, George decided to join the party, and, to Hermione's great dismay, also leapt into the Quidditch conversation.

Even though George and his brother of late, Fred, owned a flat above their shop in Diagon Alley, George had been staying over at Harry's place to help cope with the shock and stress of not only losing his twin, but his closest friend. Fred's death was a sickening weight in them all, but especially Harry, who couldn't help but feel guilty himself, for the loss of the great jokester. But George had been slowly healing, the wounds would never completely heal, and there would still be scars left over, but healing nonetheless.

It was George's idea to go outside and play a game of Quidditch in the rain, instead of just talking about it. But Hermione was quick to try to beat down the idea. "But it's _raining _outside! You'll all get soaked, catch a cold, and not be able to go anywhere for a _month_! Why not wait until the storm has passed over? Then you'll be able to play in nicer weather."

"But Hermione, isn't it obvious why we should go out now?" George waited for Fred to finish the thought for him, but then, he remembered Fred wouldn't do that, ever again. "It will be more fun and challenging in the rain. Help sharpen our senses, ya know? Also, in a real Quidditch match, you've got to play, no matter the weather conditions, or just forfeit.

"Plus, we've played in the rain before now, and the only problem we'd had, was seeing, and Harry getting attacked by dementors. I assure you all that there are most likely no dementors out there in the back woods at the moment, presently. It is quite safe," George finished his statement less enthused then when he had first started his argument. Everyone in the room could feel George slowly slipping into the claws of depression again, and no one else dared to try to argue against his idea twice; they were all now too caught up in trying to get George feeling happy again, even Hermione bit back her rebuke, and they all hustled outside. Harry never did get to read the paper that morning.

When they all finally came back in, calling them wet would be an understatement. Big time. That was how drenched they were. But they all came in with beaming faces and their looks were ones of accomplishment.

Everyone then commenced to settle by the fire, with steaming hot mugs filled to the brim with hot cocoa, reliving the action of their game. While everyone else was discussing their game, Harry, chuckling to himself, finally decided to read the issue of the _Daily Prophet_ he'd received that morning.

Harry had just taken in a rather large sip of his drink, when his eyes processed the words forming the title on the headline page, and delivered them to his brain. All in one motion, Harry simultaneously dropped the _Prophet_ onto his lap, swung his arm holding his mug around, to place it on the little table next to his armchair, to keep it from spilling, and began to spew out his drink on whatever was in front of him. Sadly for Hermione, she was said something. Harry then proceeded to go into a coughing fit.

Ginny was there in an instant, slamming her hand against his back to help him stop choking on whatever part of his drink that was still left in his mouth. When he could properly breathe again~ with a hurting back in the bargain~ he forced himself to calm down.

"Harry, what on _Earth_ happened?!" Hermione demanded to know, trying to dry herself off.

"Nothing," was Harry's immediate response. Apparently, his mouth decided it no longer wanted to take orders from his brain.

"Oh come off it, Harry," George scoffed. "No one just suddenly decides to spit out a perfectly good cup of hot cocoa on my Ronnykins's girlfriend, and then choke on it, for 'nothing'." Then, George mused, "Well, no one I've met yet, anyway."

George would have continued wandering off in his own thoughts, had it not been for Ron, practically begging, "Come on Harry! Tell us, tell us! Pleeeeeeease!"

Harry's face was chalk white as he flashed them all the headline:

**Malfoy Death Eater Trial in 5 Days!**

The cheery mood quickly evaporated as they all gathered around Harry. As one, they read the article:

**Lucius, Narcissa, and Draco Malfoy, supporters of the finally vanquished You-Know-Who, after almost three years after the end of the war, and their capture, they will have their Trial. Those disgusting murderers don't have a glimmer of hope of escaping the Dementor's Kiss, writes **_**Rita Skeeter**_**, especially going in without a Defendant! **

**These Death Eaters were the cause of many a death during the horrifying rein of You-Know-Who, including the beloved Albus Dumbledore, the late Headmaster of Hogwarts, along with many innocent others. Torturing and murdering are obviously the only things they know. I'm even allowed to reveal the fact that, even before the supposed return of You-Know-Who, Lucius had been using his status of being a Death Eater to hold over the poor citizens of our Wizarding World, who dared to cross his path. He even, apparently, threatened to curse the families of the Board of Governors, if they did not support his 'request' to have Dumbledore removed from the post of Hogwarts Headmaster in its greatest time of need. Narcissa Malfoy helped to plot dear Dumbledore's death, while her vile son carried out the deed. It is also rumored, that, they even offered You-Know-Who houseroom! **

**Alas! I am not sure if this is true or not, but have no fear, for I, **_**Rita Skeeter**_**, will be attending said Trial, and I will be taking notes, and digging up all the dirt you all are so eager to be burrowing into. There will be an article next week describing all of the Malfoys' dirty little secrets and crimes. I am so privileged to be able to go, due to the courtesy of our beloved Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, who will be the chief warlock in this Trial, just like all the others! At times like these, one often wonders where we would now be, if Harry Potter had not saved us all! ~ for more on the destruction of You-Know-Who, turn to page 5. For more on our prized Minister, page 10. For more on the outcome of previous Death Eater Trials, page 13. For more on Harry Potter, page 19.**

The room was deathly silent.

**A/N: I know this was shorter than last time, and lacking in action, but I am only setting up the stage for my story! Next chapter will hopefully be longer and go into the plot more.**

**Last time I kept my promise, and updated! Now let us see if we can get a repeat of this action, and review!**

**Next Chapter: Harry's gang's reactions, and more…**


	3. Chapter 3 The Brain Boggling Request

**A/N: Here is the next chapter, it is finally done! But this has occurred only due to the fact that we have no school today, because the sky decided the ground would look much better dressed in white… 16 inches of it! (A lot of snow) So you'd all better thank the being you believe controls the weather! Wahoo! :D (Plus my Birthday is in a couple of days, so this chapter is a gift from me to you ;))**

**Also, thank you very much for the reviews, I always love to hear your opinions! ;)**

**Read on, and enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Nope. Still don't own it!**

_The room was deathly silent…_

Chapter 3- The Brain Boggling Request

"So… When they say 'Draco Malfoy', you don't think they're talking about the pompous git we spent our school years with? You know, the ferret boy who always starts every other sentence off with 'my father'?" Ron attempted to joke about the whole situation, trying to lighten the tense and morose mood that set in after the reading of the article.

"What other Draco Malfoy, who is a Death Eater, whose mission it was to kill Dumbledore, do we know?" Hermione stated the rhetorical question softly, as if afraid of being heard. The room went quiet again.

While everyone else was stuck in their own dark thoughts, Harry was trying to figure out the best way to phrase his request.

And so, he started off with this: "Isn't this the first time one of the Trials has been announced _before_ it already occurred?"

This caused some thinking to occur to those few people inhabiting the room, but it was Hermione who beat them all in voicing their thoughts aloud to the room at large. "Yes, that is very true, Harry, down to the last word. But-"it was evident that Hermione's brain was kicking into overdrive now- "isn't it absolutely _obvious _what happened?" At everyone's blank looks, she continued, " Well, think of it like this: After the War, a whole lot of families suffered losses, if they weren't wiped out totally, and everyone blames Voldemort- _stop being such a little baby Ron_- and his followers for all of the suffering. These families want to make the ones who caused such grief and devastation to pay. They're out for blood. But, sadly for them, Harry here, took out Voldemort – _Ron – _already, and, therefore, the only beings left to blame for their suffering, are his followers. The Death Eaters.

"Once the Final Great Battle was over… You all remember how we all helped in the hunt to round up the remaining Death Eaters, to prevent them from… ah… taking out their grief on the… ah…citizens of England," Hermione stammered, trying to find how best to word it before it left her mouth. "They then, thusly, placed said Death Eaters in Azkaban.

"But placing them in there obviously wasn't enough for some. They then began to call them to these 'Trials', where they would either have their chance at freedom, death, or the Dementor's Kiss." Hermione broke off her tirade, so she could inhale some much-needed oxygen.

In an effort to encourage his girlfriend to continue, Ron said, "Right, go on!" He even made a shooing sort of motion with his hands.

Hermione then plowed on relentlessly, "But those Trials are a big old farce! They shouldn't even be deemed 'trials' at all! First off, the Death Eaters don't have a say in whether they want to do it or not. Second of all, they go in without lawyers, no Defendants, no one but themselves to try to prove their innocence. Besides, if they're Death Eaters, they _would _have committed crimes, no way of escaping _that_ while with Voldemort – thank you Ron. This is just so the Ministry will have an excuse to subject them to the Dementor's Kiss! There would be no way for them to win the case, even if they were only a spy for the Order! The crimes the spies would have committed to keep their cover would be the only things the Court would see, and would still give them the Dementor's Kiss. Any evidence Death Eaters might have of being _forced_ into serving Voldemort, would be taken in as codswallop, especially coming from the Death Eater's own mouth.

"But coming back to your question, Harry; it does seem quite odd. This is the first time the Ministry has broken out of its pattern. They would announce the Trial only _after_ it had already occurred. But it is unbelievably obvious as to why they're announcing the Malfoy's Trial like this, unlike all of the others," Hermione said bitterly, stopping the pacing she had started somewhere in the middle of her rant. "The other Death Eaters they had on 'Trial' had family and friends who didn't take sides, therefore neither good, nor bad, and the Ministry didn't want them to come to defend their friend or family member. They didn't want their chances of taking out the Death Eater ruined by a Defendant or a lawyer.

"But the Malfoys are a different story. Their relatives all took sides, and the ones who might have been even slightly interested in defending them, are dead; all of their 'friends' were made out of fear of the Malfoys, and everyone strongly detests, if not hates, them. The Ministry knows this, and is not afraid that someone might defend them, because they don't believe anyone will. In fact, they probably announced their Trial so that more people would come than usual, and watch it all with spite, conviction, and malice in their hearts. Maybe people would go as far as to jeer at them. It is completely disgusting and barbaric!" Hermione concluded her speech with a giant huff, which she felt didn't emphasize her feelings enough.

The room was busy digesting all of this. Harry, if anything, was encouraged by all of it, _if I could just get Hermione on my side… _

It appeared that no one was planning on saying more at that moment, so Harry took his chance. "Why don't we defend Malfoy?" He asked his question with bated breath. The reactions he received were quite intriguing, and would have found them quite humorous if the situation hadn't been so serious. Hermione looked shocked; Ginny appeared to be wondering if George had snuck Harry one of his newest prototypes for his shop; George seemed to be considering whether or not to ship Harry off to St. Mongo's, stat; while Ron looked as if he was about to keel over, either that or grow really old, really fast, and then proceed to have a heart attack.

Surprisingly, Ginny was the first to find her voice, "Wha-what? You're joking, Harry, right? You aren't seriously suggesting that, right? I-I mean-"

Ginny broke off as Harry calmly stated, "I'm serious."

"Why?" Softly, Hermione this time.

"Err… Hero complex?" It came out as a question more than an assured statement. Harry then and there, made a pact with himself to think before he opened up the big fly-trap he called his mouth.

"Hero complex…" Ginny repeated with disbelief. It was prominent on all of their faces – they were practically screaming at him 'DO YOU HONESTLY THINK WE'RE _THAT_ STUPID?!' without having to say a word.

"Okay…" Harry back-tracked and tried to edit his words, "Well… it's just…" Harry let out a big sigh, and gave a weak smile of defeat. "I never really could hide anything from you guys, could I?" Ginny shook her head and mouthed the word 'no', as if her vocal cords would not allow her to say the word.

"Not true, Harry. Not true," George began. "I mean, there was that time when… no. We found that out.

"What about when… no. We ended up tripping over you and blowing your cover.

"Ooo, ooo, I got one! What about the time when… no… that one kid got eaten…

"How about… *sigh* No. If I didn't know about it, I wouldn't be able to reminisce about it. Alright. I give up!" George threw his hands in the air in feigned exasperation, "You're right, you can't hide secrets from us." Then, with the wicked signature grin of the Weasley Twins, "Lucky us."

Harry collected himself and told them all the real reasons for his desire to defend Malfoy, "Well… even if he was an insufferable little ferret, and a horrible git to the lot of us, we still know him. We went to school with him for all of our years at Hogwarts. He didn't really kill Dumbledore. He was trapped and imprisoned, and tortured by Voldemort. He didn't really say who we out-right were to his parents, even though he could've gotten rid of us for good, and get out of trouble with Voldemort, when we were captured and bound on his floor.

"When we were in the Room of Requirement, it was as if he was, in a way, giving us more time to escape, when he was arguing with Crabbe and Goyle on not killing us. Well… that excuse _is_ a bit of a long-shot, I suppose," Harry admitted, seeing the incredulous looks his friends were giving him. "But you've got to keep your mind open in these kinds of things…

"Anyway… we did risk our lives trying to save him and Goyle in the Room of Requirement when Crabbe set it aflame. It would have been such a wasted effort if he were to either get the Dementor's Kiss, die, or rot away to nothing in Azkaban.

"We weren't able to help Goyle, or any of the other Slytherns we know, because we always found out about the Trial too late. I want to… I just can't sit around here, know about the Trial, and know that I'm doing absolutely _nothing_ about it! I need to help him! To help someone! Even if that someone was my enemy, the Ice/Dark Prince of Slythern, Draco Malfoy.

"Plus, the Malfoys aren't as bad as the _Prophet_ leads them to be. Voldemort would have found out I was still alive back in the achromantula clearing, had not Mrs. Malfoy, the one chosen to check if I still lived, told Voldemort I was dead. I am still grateful, and in debt to her for this, even though I knew she only did it so she could see her son. I figured what better way to pay her back than to rescue them from the clutches of Azkaban?

"But, the thing is, I need all of your help. Like always, I won't be able to do this without you guys. Please… will you help me?"Harry not only pleaded with voice, but eyes as well.

"You were right the first answer you gave us. Hero complex," Ginny said weakly.

"You seriously want us to defend that rat bitten, ferret-Death Eater of a scoundrel?! And what is all of this about a bit of light possibly in him? If you ask me, you're looking in a very dark cave, for that light. Oh, and while we're at it, how about we give him the 'Not-As-Much-Of-A-Bastard-Trying-To-Kill-Us-As-You-Could-Have-Been-Medal'? If you haven't noticed, we all really don't get along that well either. And-"Ron cut himself off momentarily in favor of more air. Apparently, even though they had been disgusted by the prospect of another Trial, they also weren't very comfortable at the idea of defending the Death Eaters on Trial either, judging by the bizarre looks they had on their faces, and Ron's outraged outburst.

Ron, upon suddenly seeing the current expression on his best friend's face, softened. "This is really important to you, isn't it?" When Harry slowly bobbed his head, Ron gave a defeated sigh, "Alright. But you'd better help me out the next time Hermione's mad at me." Ron and Harry exchanged a small grin with each other.

"Thanks mate. I knew I could count on you to come through," Harry said, all choked up that Ron was there for him, even when it was Malfoy he was helping with. Someone then cleared their throat, and Harry turned to face Hermione.

"Well… you're going to need a pretty decent witch to help argue your points and get you all organized and everything, right?" Hermione stated with a little smile upon her lips.

"And don't forget a good arguer now," Ginny added.

"Oh, Hermione, and Ginny too. I – Thank you," Harry had trouble getting the words out of his mouth, due to the obstruction that was now forming in his throat.

"Well, I guess I've been out-voted then. But y'all know the saying 'if you can't bring back their sanity, join them in their insanity'. Something like that. But don't forget that Fred" everyone gasped, because this was the first time he'd said that name in months " was killed because of the Death Eaters, and I'm still slightly bitter about it; so don't expect me to have my whole heat thrown into this thing. I'm only doing this for you guys, not the Death Eaters, because I care about you," George shrugged. He then called out mischievously, "About now would be a good time for a group hug, don't you think?" He waggled his eyebrows up and down for good effect; it looked as if two red caterpillars were doing the Funky Worm.

"We think we'll pass on that one. We're not allowed to all go soft at the same time!" Ginny giggled.

"You – all of you… You don't know how much this means to me. You're amazing friends, and I'm lucky to have you. I don't know what I'd do without you. Thank You," Harry gave them all his best smile.

Ron then jumped up and said, "I've got it!"

They all looked quizzically at him, like a bunch of senior citizens questioning the town psycho as to why he'd replaced the steering wheel, and horn in their car with bicycle handlebars and a bell.

"Er… Got _what_, exactly?"

Ron sighed as if it was completely obvious, "If we're on a rescue mission, and we're a group, we should have a name for ourselves, and, luckily for us, I've got the perfect one!" While crossing and waving his arms in front of him, in a make-a-rainbow sort of motion, Ron said, "Draco Malfoy Rescue Squad! Or, just DMRS, for short!"

Hermione, seeing what she thought was her perfect chance for revenge said, "Dmrs?" She said it so it sounded like "Dim-ers".

Ron cackled in triumph (Harry made a mental note on how creepy Ron's cackle really was, and to tell him of it later) "Ahh, but Hermione, my acronym isn't as easy to say as _spew_ was. It is so much simpler to say 'Dee, Em, Are, Ess'." Ron dragged out the 's' longer than was really necessary, so it sounded like a demented snake hissing.

While Ron and Hermione continued to bicker, Ginny told Harry, "I'll talk to Luna and get her to tell me how the Malfoys treated her, while she was in their dungeon, and I'll document anything good I can find. Plus, there are a couple of things that occurred while you, Ron, and Hermione were away, hunting for the Horecruxes, at Hogwarts. They would also be favorable for the Malfoys."

To Ginny, Harry said, "Thanks" and to the room at large, Harry announced," Alright, everyone, we only have five days to get our evidence together and be prepared. We can do this, right?" All of the suddenly serious faces nodded their agreement and excitement.

"Hermione," Harry turned to the aforementioned witch, "You'll help Ginny document, collect and organize the evidence, and put together the defense, okay?" When she shook her head in agreement, Harry turned to George," You'll help make a list of witnesses, and convince them to come to the Trial to vouch for the Malfoys."

As Harry was turning toward Ron, George interrupted by saying, "You know, Harry, you being _the_ Harry Potter_, _the vanquisher of the evil Lord Voldemort, and all, I bet if you were to walk into that courtroom and say 'They're innocent! Release them!', they will not question you, and do that right away." George's Harry impression was so good, Harry began to no longer wonder why that random guy in Diagon Alley ran out of the public restrooms yelling to the world, 'Harry Potter spoke to me! To _me!_ He told me I would look less ugly if I went to Weasley Wizard Wheezes to buy one of their rag-doll hats! Yippee!' even though Harry was just about to head for the restrooms, and had never seen the guy in his life until that unfortunate moment in time.

Harry shook that thought off as he turned back to his attention neglected friend, and told him that he and Harry would be looking into the past Trials and their outcomes, to get an idea of what they would be up against when their time came to Defend Malfoy.

They all had only five days to complete their tasks.

**~TBC.~**

**A/N: That's it for the third chapter in DMRS! It was probably one of my longest chapters yet. I hope you liked it! Please give me your opinions and how you think this story will turn out. I am very curious, to say the least. So please review! **

**Other Disclaimer: Plus, I got the idea of the-bastard-trying-to-kill-us-medal thing from Avatar: The Last Air Bender's line of "Lets give him the Not-So-Much-Of-A-Jerk-As-You-Could-Have-Been-Award!"~ Katara. I just couldn't resist!**

**Next Chapter: More on a very depressed and haunted Draco Lucius Malfoy!**


	4. Chapter 4 Falling Through Darkness

**A/N: Well, here's another chapter after all of this time****! Thanks, as always, to may fabulous reviewers! I really love to hear what people are thinking. But there is a warning you MUST read.**

**First off, I'm changing the rating to 'T'. Why? Because:**

**1. I'm paranoid**

**2. And because of this chapter**

**Secondly, the **_**italicized**_** stuff is all occurring in Draco's head. **

**Thirdly, some very dark humor in here. This chapter doesn't contain too much humor.**

**WARNING: very dark and dreary chapter ahead. If you do not want to read too much of it, go straight to the first asterisks (***), therefore you do not miss too much important info to the story. Also, there is slight "character death" before the asterisks.**

**I am planning to make this the worst (most depressing) chapter in the story. So I hope I don't scare you off! Enjoy!**

**Chapter 4 – **_Falling through Darkness_

Draco's days and nights where all just one, endless pit of agony to him, just one unending darkness, never to break its hold. All of this, of course, was the dementors' doing. But an endless torment, never ceasing in its constant battering of the poor 19 year old, nonetheless. Going through his worst memories was just a small breath of fresh air, compared to the other effect the dementors had on him. And, apparently, it just got worse the longer you stayed in their presence, their domain, their kingdom…

"_Why, hello, Draco. Did you missss me?" Voldemort hissed at Draco. The ess'es echoed. _

"_No."_

"_Aww, Draco, I'm hurt…"_

"…"

"_You should know better by now to treat your guessstss with hossspitality." _

"_Y-yes, my L-lord."_

"_Ahh, but Draco, you lie. You fear what I will show you thisss time. I musst sssay it wasss a fool'sss ssstrategy to anger me Draco, for now, our sssession together will be much worssse than what it was going to be. I shall enjoy every ssecond of it…"_

_----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------._

"_So Draco, tell me; what shall we do firssst?_

"_Ahh, that wass a rhetorical quessstion; I have our whole time together planed out…"_

_In the mere span of a moment, Draco was back at the Manor. His manor; what used to be his home, before he was placed in Azkaban. He had heard that the Ministry had gotten the 'warrant' to burn it to the ground. _

_As soon as this thought crossed his mind, the house was instantly set aflame. The house was like a major bonfire, the flames licking at the stars and the moon, as if the house wasn't enough to satisfy its grotesque appetite._

_Draco then, suddenly, was in the manor, watching his family's possessions burn. One by one, they seemed to appear in front of him, dancing just out of reach, glowing and sparkling in all of its glory, before catching fire and turning to dust before his eyes. _

_Some began to take the voices of his 'friends' and family, echoing strangely, in a deadpan, emotionless voice, and yet full of emotion; reflecting their faces in the dimming copper, silver, gold, and porcelain. Each word and voice and face, would shove another knife into his already bleeding heart._

_Pansy: "Dracoo! Why? Why did you leave me to die? I thought you cared, even a little about me! I died at another's wand because you weren't there to protect me. You weren't even there at all! Why? Why…"_

_Blaise: "I thought you were my friend. But you don't even know where I am, do you? You only did care about yourself, after all. Why did I expect anything different from you? Just another disappointment…"_

_Crabbe: "I listened to you all my life, protecting you and doing as told. But when the time came for you to hear my opinion for once, and protect me, you didn't. I _died_, because you didn't. You just left me to burn alive in that room, while you escaped to live another day. I wasted my life because of you…"_

_Goyle: "The Dementor's Kiss is a horrible thing, Draco. I pray, for your sake, and your parents, that you don't have to suffer through it like I did. Such a horrible fate…"_

_Bellitrix: "You were given chance after chance to make yourself great, and you failed. You _failed_ in your mission to kill Dumbly Dore. You _failed_ in preventing Potter's escape from us. You _failed_ in capturing Potter, time and time again. You _failed_ in protecting your friends. You __**failed**__ in protecting your _family_. You're an utter failure…"_

_Weasley: "Why if it isn't the little Death Eater."_

_Potter: "Yeah, Malfoy, how's that going for you, huh?"_

_Granger: "We warned you, but you wouldn't listen you pompous prat-"_

_Weasley: "Hermione, get your facts straight; he isn't pompous anymore! Hah!"_

_Potter: "Malfoy, you're so pitiful, that even after we've saved your miserable life several times, you've still managed to lose it."_

_Potter, Weasley, and Granger: "Pathetic."_

_Weasley: "Always was, and always will be, straight to the grave!"_

"_Shut up!" Draco cried, but it was lost in the inferno. _

_It went on, just like this, as he went from floor to floor, room to room, watching each of his items disintegrate before his eyes. Each room held a voice, each a voice from the past, each equally carving his heart from his chest, leaving him internally bleeding for eternity. _

_He was very dimly aware of the voices outside the house's crumbling walls, whispering, and yet shouting at the same time:_

"_Burn!"_

"_Let it all burn!"_

"_The Malfoys are no more!"_

"_Their home will burn to the ground!"_

_Everywhere, there was chanting:_

"_Burn!"_

"_Burn!"_

"_Burn."_

"_Burn…"_

_He was once again outside of his house. Draco, with a tear streaked face, fell onto his knees, watching the consuming flames, which now spread to the Malfoy Gardens, where he'd spent many a day, wasting his time there to plant and tend to it. All of the flowers were grasping at the flames, and burning, slowly curling in on themselves. It was a terrible and horrifying sight, and yet, he couldn't tear his eyes away from the devastation._

_The flames suddenly surrounded him, like a ring master's circle in a circus of torture. There were the voices again, but the ones chanting "Burn!" were just the background music._

"_Utter failure!"_

"_Little bitty Draky poo, all alone. No one to care for the worthless little Malfoy."_

"_Where are your friends, Draco?"_

"_He has none!"_

"_Didn't you hear?"_

"_He left them to their fates, to die!"_

"_And now, he has not a single soul to even give the time of day…"_

"_All alone…"_

"_Worthless…"_

"_Coward!"_

"_He isn't alone"_

"_Oh, yes, he has us!"_

"_What more could little Draco hope for?"_

"_Pitiful…"_

"_Useless"_

"_failure"_

"_He even abandoned his parents!"_

"_That will do, my friendsss," Hissed the voice of Voldemort._

_Silence._

"_Draco… I know you didn't kill Dumbledore, and that you've failed in every task ever set to you. You do remember what I told you would happen if you failed me, Draco?" No response was required; they both knew that the words were engraved into Draco's brain: _If you fail me Draco, you and your family will no longer be of use to me; I will get rid of you myself.

_No, he didn't need a reminder. "Draco, would you like to see how I'd have killed your parents, had I lived? Or, shall we just cut to the chase of the matter?_

" _No. I want you to see your parents' lives disappear before you. The only problem I'm facing is, how to do it? There are so many ways… So many choices… the human life is so fragile and easily broken…"_

_Suddenly, the people he thought he would never see again were before Draco… his parents. It was hard to tell which one was worse for wear, Narcissa, or Lucius. Their once beautiful, soft, golden hair was practically _brown_ with mud; their fine array of clothes gone, replaced by the garments of Azkaban; and both of their aristocratic, proud visages were no more, exchanged with the hollowed out, dead, and gaunt look that only Azkaban can carve into a soul. Draco was shocked by the sudden realization that he must look no different._

_Lucius and Narcissa, at the sight of each other practically leapt into each other's arms, crying out how much they had missed the other. Then, they saw Draco._

_Draco was unsure what to expect; how would his parents treat their failure of a son?_

_Narcissa's eyes filled with tears and her hands went up to cover her mouth. Lucius's eyes shown with more emotion than Draco had ever seen in them, and that was saying something, especially after a few emotion sucking months in Azkaban!_

_As one, father, mother, and son rose off of the ground and ran toward each other, much in the same way that people would run to each other in a sappy love story. But when they were just one millimeter apart, they hit an invisible wall, separating them from a loving embrace. Narcissa banged and screamed at the wall, desperate to reach her lost and lonely son, digging her long, unclipped nails into it, all the while screeching Draco's name. Lucius proceeded to try helping wife by slamming his entire body weight into the barrier, while Draco did the same as his father, except kicking and punching at it too. It was all to no avail; the wall held firm and strong. _

"_Aww. How touching is this? My heart is breaking, really it is," Voldemort's voice dripped with sarcasm, and was obviously not trying very hard to hide it. The Malfoys decided to ignore Voldemort, especially Draco, who now remembered why his parents were there at all. _

_It took a moment to hit Draco as to why the wall was there; there were several reasons behind its existence. Voldemort knew that they would want to embrace each other, so he set up this invisible force to keep them separate, and, in trying to break desperately through, they would be weakening themselves more than they already were. Voldemort also knew that if he tried to kill Draco's parents, Draco would try to interfere, and thus the 'Force' was born. But Voldemort wanted to make sure that Draco could see his parents' demise, and so made the fence transparent._

_Draco sunk to the ground; if he wasn't crying prominently before, he was now._

_He could see his parents were telling him not to give up, and to keep trying, due to the way their lips and mouths were moving. But they didn't _get it_! They didn't _understand_! Oh, but they would, soon enough. They _would_ get it, soon enough. Too soon…_

_Draco looked up at the dark silhouette that was the Dark Lord when he began to speak: "Lucius, Narcissa, my old friendsss. How nice of you to join us. Lucius, you look absolutely _prim_, while Narcissa, I must say, you've let yourself go, haven't you? Tut, tut. But that's what dear old Azkaban'll do to you," Voldemort gave an evil little chuckle that wasn't unlike the sound of bubbling tar; personally, Draco preferred the bubbling tar. _

_Lucius's face was stock-still and unmoving as his eyes watched the Dark Lord with a bright light within them. Narcissa, on the other hand, looked as though she might faint, with how white her visage appeared. Draco didn't know what he looked like, but he knew his mouth was dry. It was _very_ dry._

"_Lucius." Lucius didn't even have the will to fight as the Dark Lord drew him magically near him. Draco's father was dumped unceremoniously at the Dark Lord's feet. And there was that tar-pit chuckle again; oh, how Draco was really coming to detest that unearthly laugh. _

"_Ah Lucius, I could always count on you to come crawling back to me and lick the ground my presence walked upon. In fact…" Lucius had raised his head to look at the face of the Dark Lord with hate, fear, or emptiness; Draco did not know, for he could not see his father's face. "_Imerio_!"_

_Draco turned his head away as if his eyes burned at the sight; his father was kissing the Dark Lord's feet and the bottom of his robes, while the Dark Lord laughed as if he just heard the most entertaining joke in the world. (Knowing him, it probably was.) _

"_Now, roll around in the dirt, where you relate to the most," The Dark Lord couldn't keep the purr out of his voice as he said this. Lucius began to twist and turn around on the ground like a hyped-up puppy on steroids or someone who is determined to get a perfect grade in Stop-Drop-and-Roll classes._

_But after awhile, even the Dark Lord became bored with humiliating his once vehement follower, for he began to draw amusement from Lucius writhing on the ground in a new way… through the Cruciatus Curse. Draco's father's cries of misery, pain, and torture cut through the night, as if with a physical blade. The Dark Lord did not remove the curse as Lucius's body convulsed and struggled for breath, fighting off the inevitable._

_Finally, the world was silent again, except for the unending, evil sound of laughter coming from the depths of the Dark Lord's maw._

_Draco was struck with an overwhelming feeling of grief and loss, and the tears began to shed anew, with full-force as he looked at the glassy-eyed gaze of Lucius's dead, blank eyes that were visible, even from this far a distance. Draco only broke his gaze from his father's unmoving body when an unearthly wail sounded just to his right: his mother. Draco had forgotten about her in all of the horrors being played out, right before his eyes. _

_Narcissa looked ashen, with tears of her own making rivers down her face, and her lower lip trembled. His mother appeared to have lost half of herself, along with all aloof pretences and manner. It tore deeper into his heart to see her like this. He could do nothing as his mother got up off of the ground, where she'd apparently been sitting to help give Draco comfort and receive some in return, and ran over to where her husband's lifeless form lay to fall on top of him and mourn, while Draco's quiet pleas were lost. He should have given her that comfort._

_Now, Draco was helpless again to protect his one remaining parent, as the Dark Lord turned the Unforgivable Curse upon Narcissa Malfoy, her cries of agony and suffering joining to be one with her shrieks of misery and grief. The Dark Lord had apparently gotten his warm-up entertainment through Narcissa's anguish, plus, she wasn't so much of a devoted servant as Lucius was; the entire preamble felt impersonal here, somehow. _

_But, eventually, Narcissa's cries soon ceased and Draco did the stupidest thing ever; he ran to where his parents' dead bodies lay, growing cold on the ground. There, he completely broke down. _

_Maniacal laughter filled the cold night air. "Oh, Draco… Now, it is your turn." Draco wanted to face his would-be murderer with courage, maybe like Potter did when he knew that the Dark Lord was going to kill him in the Forbidden Forest, but he was so terrified, that he couldn't move. _

"_Draco… I have a _special_ demise for you…" _

_Out of nowhere, a dementor-like being swooped down upon him and swallowed Draco whole._

_Draco was falling…He was falling through a deep impenetrable darkness… Yet it was different from falling off his broom in the air, because there was no wind… There was nothing to prove that Draco wasn't just at a standstill, except for the sensation of plummeting - of falling… Draco was barley even aware of his own being; everything was empty darkness…_

_Through the darkness, came the evil, echoing voice of the Dark Lord- or maybe it was just in his head- "Good luck with your Trial, Draco…"_

_The dark voices hissed inside of him, "We'll be waiting for you, Draco…" As the voices were fading: "Together forever…"_

Draco awoke to the sound of screaming and a very wet face. When he realized that he was the one who was shrieking, he stopped.

Draco sat up on his "bed", and placed his back against the wet, cracked wall of his cell, pulling his knees to his chest. Draco closed his eyes, and started rocking back and forth.

_They're not dead. They're not dead. They're not dead. _Draco repeated again and again in his head. _They aren't dead. They're not dead. They'll be- _Draco was about to think 'OK', but he knew he'd be lying to himself if he did. Instead, he continued to chant: _They're not dead_, over and over again in his head. The dark voices in his head said, "_Sure. Just keep telling yourself that."_

"Shut UP!" Draco yelled out loud. The darkness just laughed at him.

In that moment, Draco knew he was doomed in his Trial. Oh, who had he been kidding to think that there was some way he could possibly win it? He'd been a fool to hope otherwise. But, he still said in a small, raspy, whispered voice, "Help…" The word echoed emptily in the cell.

~~~~~~~~~~~~.

In a small room on the other side of a tall building, a long blond-haired man jerked awake. He slowly sat up, as if in a stupor. Anyone would have thought the ragged man fine, until he let out a low, solitary moan.

"My son… Oh, my poor boy… my only son! And my wife… Oooohh! My _family. _WHY? I thought, you my Dark Lord, would always protect those who showed you loyalty! You've only lied to us! _Why_?" The man soon began to weep.

~~~~~~~~~.

A woman in a diminutive room shocked herself into the waking world by screaming her head off. But when she was conscious, she did not stop her pitiful wails of grief and misery.

"My husband… oh my husband, and – hic – and my son! My little baby boy! My poor little Dragon! _No!_"

***.

The sky was past twilight, and yet, the blackness yawned as far as any eye could see, unbroken by any spots of light; there were no stars out. Two cloaked figures were making their way down a winding, cracked, cobble-stoned path, leading to a broken-down little cottage. The falling-apart building would have seemed quite homey, except for the aura of evil that seemed to just seep from its walls.

The two companions reached the door, and entered without seeking invitation. The stout one entered before the taller one, therefore making it to the meeting room first. Inside the room, there were already two others, also cloaked, but one more ragged than the other. Raspy breathing soon filled the room.

"You are late," the other translated.

The tall figure removed its hood and the man spoke, "We are very sorry, but we are very busy as of late." There was more harsh breathing.

"No excuses! My time is precious also! We are very busy with the extra mouths to feed! And being Head Dementor is nothing to laugh at either! When you say we are going to meet, I'll accept no tardiness," said the translator.

"Of course, but we waste time now, arguing," the man stated. "We shall get this over as quickly as possible.

"All of the information we need is collected, and the preparations for the Trial are complete. Yet there is still the very slightest chance they will win their freedom. But be assured that the chance is very unlike-"

Furious breathing interrupted the man. "No! We must be certain of victory. It was your oversight to inform the public wizarding society! There must be no uncertainties! They are a great source of power to us, but I _will not_ lose the boy; his depression is great and feeds us well. We will _not _accept failure!" And, just to prove his point, the Chief Dementor swooped down upon the translator, who let out a terrified shriek.

"_Expecto Patronum_," the words came from the small figure in a sweet voice that would have made flowers keel over, and a lightly glowing cat leapt from the wand and shooed the Chief Dementor away from the translator, who huffed out his thanks.

In a sickly sweet, girlish voice the woman stated with conviction, "We will not lose, and the boy will remain yours."

***.

The sky was well past dusk, and it was a thick, black blanket, yet the first few stars were daring to appear across the endless expanse; specks of shining, brilliant light, in the darkness.

***.

**A/N: And that's an end to another chapter! The longest so far, too, I think. ****I really hope people are still sticking to the story, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Also, please tell me if I got the rating right on this; if I didn't, would you tell me which rating you think is suitable?**

**Please don't forget to review! Those who do, hypothetically push Voldemort off a cliff! (The Astronomy Tower is reserved for a different bastard later in the story. ;D) **

**Now, I wonder what our other heros are up to?**


	5. Chapter 5 RingRams, and Conspiracies

**A/N: Salutations everyone! I am very sorry for the long wait, but I do hope this new chapter was worth it! ;) I wish to thank everyone who reviewed my story. I now have ten whole reviews! And good teamwork, you've all hypothetically pushed Voldemort off a cliff! Congrats.**

**Also, in answer to a review I got: I must apologize if I led you to expect a really gruesome chapter. But if you recall, my previous rating was K+, so to a little kid, it might have seemed horrible. You know? So sorry for the false expectations, and laying it on a little thickly. **

**About the Malfoys' behavior... remember that they were placed in Azkaban right after the Final Battle of Hogwarts and Draco is now 19, even if he might not know it, so that equals at least 2 years in Azkaban for them. That can really drain a person. And even if we know that what happened in their heads wasn't real, it was real enough to them. Plus, they're sort of on the verge of losing their last marble, so to say. So they might let their composure drop a bit, because, to them, no one can see the state that they're in at the moment they let it slip.**

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter=not mine, but Harold Hooverman and Mrs. O'Brady = mine**

**6 new reviews = 1 happy author :D**

_Chapter 5- Ring-Rams, Conspiracies, and Hob Knockers_

Ginny-

Ginny walked down a thoroughly packed street, the sunlight shining down on her, causing her orange hair to glow a fiery red. The rain clouds had departed at 10:30. Her feet ached from the constant trudging on hard cobblestones for what seemed like hours. She couldn't Disapparate or Apparate to her destination with so many people here, blocking her way; she wasn't about to land on top of some poor kid. Ginny was tired of constantly being pushed and shoved aside in the crowd (of course, she shoved back). But since she'd lost her hood, people had left her alone, and she'd regained some of her personal bubble; maybe because she looked like a fire demon on a warpath.

After what seemed like days, she finally reached the store she wanted. It was more crowded now than it ever was before the war, but it was now under new management.

Ginny slowly pushed on the door, and as she entered, a strange sound between a trumpet blast and someone blowing their nose, came from the bell bedecking the doorframe.

"Oh, a new customer!" trilled a light voice from somewhere around the bend. "Just sit down in the Customer Service Center with the others. We'll be with you as soon as we can. We are very, very busy at the Quibbler, as of late."

"Luna!" Ginny called, if not slightly indignantly.

Luna's blond head appeared around the corner. Her eyes widened, and she smiled from ear to ear at the sight of her friend. "Hello, Ginny Weasley!"

But then her smile faded slightly to be replaced with a serious expression. "You'll still have to wait like the others."

"Luna, I'm not a customer!" Luna cocked her head slightly at this; her owlish eyes blinked. "I just really need to talk to you… Please?" Ginny added the last part with all of her sweetness.

With the same expression on her face, Luna stated, "You'll still have to wait." And without waiting for a reply, she vanished again behind the corner.

Ginny let out a frustrated huff, and turned to a sign that pointed left, which promptly claimed that the Customer Service Center was that way. She barely took half a step, when she heard Luna's voice call, "Follow the opposite direction the signs point to; our pet Ring-Ram has made a hobby out of switching them!"

Ginny mouthed the word "Ring-Ram", but decided to follow Luna's advice anyway; this was her shop, and she'd know it better than anyone.

Ginny returned her gaze to the sign that said left, and took a right. The next sign told her to go and retrace her steps, but she continued forward. It continued on like that: left, right, right, forward, right, left, until she reached a dead end with a door.

Ginny was actually starting to warm up to this Service Center idea, if it meant a place she could sit down and rest. Her legs couldn't remember when they'd last been rested. The witch let her hand make its journey to the doorknob, and turned it.

She entered a room that was filled from floor to ceiling with posters and pictures of beasts Ginny was sure that Hermione had neither seen, nor heard of. All shelves were filled to the brim with editions of the Quibbler. There was a single long desk that could possibly be the cousin of the Hogwarts headmaster's desk. Three chairs and a sofa sat facing the long table. Behind the big expanse of wood, there was a single high-backed swivel-chair with its back to the table, as if they'd gotten into a fight and the chair was now refusing to look at the desk.

With a loud, relieved sigh, Ginny practically threw herself into the middle chair.

Her relaxation was short-lived, for as soon as she'd let her muscles relax, they all jumped to attention as the swivel-chair spun around, and Luna asked, "Now, what was it you wished to discuss with me?"

Ginny let out a startled squeak and leapt about a mile high. "Wha – but – and – I thought – but you said – and Customer Service Center-"

"This is my office. So much better than talking in public, no?"

"But, but, but – what about – and the - you said Ring-Ram!"

Luna let out a laugh, "You silly-billy, there's no such – hic – thing as a – hic- Ring-Ram!

"Now, did you come to discuss the eating patterns of the Crumple-Horned Snorkack?"

"What?- Ah-" this startling turn of events muddled Ginny's brain slightly, and she momentarily forgot her purpose in all of the confusion. And who can blame her? "N-no. I did not come to talk about the Crumply-Corned – I have not come to discuss the creature you are constantly searching for."

"Oh. Well that's too bad. We've gotten a pretty good lead on it. There's a man who says he's seen it; his name is Harold Hooverman. We are to have an interview with him later today!"

"Is that the same Harold Hooverman who's been brought before the Ministry, twice, to be sent to an insane asylum? The same Harold Hooverman who said if they tried to do such a thing, he would make their heads do something quite miraculous concerning their rear ends?"

"Yes," Luna breathed out, dreamily.

Ginny just shook her head helplessly. "Anyway -" Ginny was about to continue, when a sudden sight on Luna's desk caught her attention, and caused her throat to momentarily close over. "Luna… what's that?"

The witch in question followed Ginny's eyes to the newest edition of the Quibbler. "Why that's the latest issue of the Quibbler, Ginny! Would you like to take a peek at it?

"No, scratch that. You can read the entire magazine. Here," Luna tossed the booklet over to the still-stunned-Ginny. "I need to head off to my interview now, anyways. We'll talk when I return!"

Luna was at the door in seconds, turned, said "Enjoy!" and was gone before Ginny could bat an eye.

When she came-to again, Ginny muttered, "This is turning out to be quite the day, isn't it?" With a sigh, Ginny turned back to her borrowed copy of the Quibbler.

On the front cover was a picture of a very battered and beaten Draco Malfoy. His pale hands gripped the bars of his window, which he was trying, very unsuccessfully, to fit his head through. It was a drawing, not an actual snapshot of the guy, but one couldn't tell unless they looked incredibly close at the picture in question.

Malfoy was wearing the standard prison uniform, and his hair looked atrocious; this was a style that the Draco Malfoy that Ginny knew, would never be able to tolerate. The title of the main article was "**Degraded and Disgraced Draco Malfoy: Another Victim of a Conspiracy?"**

Ginny was highly intrigued, even if she knew that this was probably a bunch of hog-wash. Besides, she might just learn something, if not fact, then Luna's perspective on the entire Malfoy-Trial.

**Degraded and Disgraced Draco Malfoy:**

**Another Victim of a Conspiracy?**

**Draco Malfoy, Narcissa Malfoy, and Lucius Malfoy, all citizens of beautiful Britain and of our lovely Wizarding Society. All of them were Death Eaters in Voldemort's Second War against Wizarding and Muggle Society alike. And they were justly placed in Azkaban after the War.**

**But was this enough for our corrupt government? NO! They have to go even further to harm these poor, defeated souls! **

**All of the Goyles, Crabbes, Greengrass family, Parkinsons, Zabinis, and everyone else subjected to it… it is too late to help those who have been placed in a rigged Trial. These Trials are the ones our **_**fabulous **_**Ministry of Magic have kept under raps until it was over. The people in these Trials only had themselves to give their Defence; they were not given Defendants, nor lawyers, although, I believe Lestrange got a Mock-Lawyer: a lawyer who pretends to be on the Defender's side, but instead, just mocks his case. All of those who have gone before the Malfoys, have lost their case, and were said to have been given the Dementor's Kiss. **

**All of these victims have been greatly neglected, mistreated, and malnourished. We must ban together to fight this atrocity spawned at our courts and directed at our helpless and rejected citizens. We must fight for the Malfoys, and all those who don't have a voice! Quick, and before it's too late! **

_A conspiracy? That's a little over the top, even for Luna! _Ginny thought, after she read the article. _Well, at least I know it won't be too hard to get Luna to help. _

For the next hour, Ginny busied herself with reading the rest of the magazine and then planning what she would say to Luna, once she came back. There were articles on **The World's Fastest Hippogriff**, **See if You Can Spot the Knargle!**, **Hinky Puffs: They're Actually Explosives!**, **One-Hundred and One Ways to Tickle a Crumple–Horned Snorkack**, and **Blowing, Bellowing, and Blasting Beasts: the Dragon Lover's Column**. All in all, it wasn't a bad edition of the Quibbler.

Ginny was almost done brainstorming what she should say to Luna, when the person in question busted down her own door. It was the third time she saw Luna that day, and it was also the second time she shrieked her lungs out. So far, Luna was making a record.

"AHH! – Luna?"

"Hello again, Ginny Weasley," Luna said in that dream-like voice of hers, while her feet stood in a puddle of the remnants of her door. Ginny's eyes were now round and owlish. She looked imploringly at the door-puddle.

"Doing this scares away the Cringles. They tend to roost in whatever unfortunate room they can find. If they are allowed to stay there too long, the room has a tendency to start to rot and putrefy, although, they prefer places of the underground nature. That is why dungeons usually get moldy, and why they're so gloomy and depressing. It keeps the temperature to the perfect degree of chilliness for Cringles to thrive. Banging, making loud noises, or breaking down doors, are perfect ways of frightening them off. Or, at least keeps them mildly at bay. Now I can't very well go banging around or make noises, because it will arise Tarfin suspicion. Would you like a cup of tea?" Luna asked, while she stepped out of the pile of splinters, only to turn around and return the door to its original state, via wand.

If Ginny didn't know any better, she'd say that Luna enjoyed freaking her out.

Ginny dismissed the 'Tarfin' thing only to avoid another long-winded explanation of another creature that did not exist. But as for the tea…"Yes please!"

After both women had received their tea, they sat in the same positions they had been in before Luna's departure, with Luna behind her desk, and Ginny in her chair.

"So…" Ginny, at a loss for how to start the conversation, fell to the mercy of politeness, and asked, "How did your interview go?"

Luna's face fell, and Ginny instantly regretted delving into the subject. "It went horribly. It turned out he knew nothing of the Crumple–Horned Snorkack! He just wanted to get into our paper; get his name out there, you know?"

"That's a shame, Luna…"

Luna let out a breathy sigh, "Yes. Yes it is. Yes it is, indeed."

The room grew quiet for a few moments, as if the occupants were mourning at the loss of a perfect opportunity to expand their knowledge of the evasive Crumple–Horned Snorkack. Well, at least one occupant was. The other one had different thoughts beguiling her mind.

"Luna, if it helps things, that was a charming edition of the Quibbler I just read."

"Why, thank you. You could keep it, if you'd like."

"That'd be wonderful, Luna. Thanks! Plus, there was one article in there that I found more interesting than the others; the one concerning Draco Malfoy and his family's upcoming Trial, that is." There it was, the opening to the conversation Ginny had come to have in the first place, out there, flying around in the open.

**"**Oh! So do you agree with helping them, and joining the fight against the conspiracy?" Luna asked, excited as much as she was when she went to interview Harold Hooverman. Ginny shuddered at the comparison.

"Well, Luna, Harry already convinced us to vouch for the Malfoys at their Trial. It's a hero complex thing." Luna's naturally wide eyes were in danger of falling out of her head. "And… I was here to interview you so I could possibly get more defense information for our case. That is, if you don't mind…" Ginny finished off shyly.

"But of course, Ginny Weasley! What better way to help fight this conspiracy!"

"Err… right..."

"What is it you wish to know?"

"What happened down in the Malfoy Manor dungeons? Is there anything that might shine some good light on them, particularly Draco Malfoy?"

"Well… there are a couple of things…"

"Go on!"

"I should probably start from the beginning…"

***.

The girls talked the rest of the morning, and it wasn't until late afternoon that Ginny had all the information from Luna that she needed.

"Thank you so much Luna! This will be really good for our case. Oh, and could you do me one more favor? Please do not tell the Ministry about Harry and the rest of us taking up the Malfoy Trial. I don't want to know what they'd do to us if they found out."

"I have no clue what you are talking about, Ginny Weasley. We were just two old schoolmates having tea together and discussing an article in my magazine." Luna gave a devilish wink.

Ginny smiled at her friend, and she knew she could trust her. "Thank you Luna.  
"So you'll definitely be coming to the Trial to approve of the information we give and be a live witness?"

"Yes, indeedy," Luna confirmed. "And do not think I do not know the _real_ reason behind your decision to go along with Defending the Malfoys, Ginny Weasley. It is not that you care for the Malfoys, or the conspiracy," Luna noted this with a bit of sadness in her tone, "Or that Harry Potter is your friend."

Ginny looked questioningly at Luna, curious as to what Luna's conclusion might be.

"A great man once said 'Ah, to be so young, and to feel love's keen sting'." Luna said in her sing-song voice.

Ginny was soon tramping out of Luna's office with a short "Bye" snipping out of her mouth. Apparently, Luna stung that one on the mark.

Luna's voice sung out after her, "Harry Potter is a lucky man!"

***.

Little did the witches know, they had an audience. The creature was fairly small, maybe the size of a Chihuahua. It had the head of a goat with two, big, curly horns on its head. Its middle looked like a miniature Hula Hoop, and it had gangly monkey arms and legs. To top it all off, the creature had folded bat wings in its back.

With a grunt, the creature turned back to the sign he was switching around. The creature could be heard muttering to itself in an affronted tone of voice, "'There's no such thing as a Ring-Ram'. Well I never!"

***.

George-

"Get OUT!" Shrieked the elderly woman.

"But-" George was, once again, cut off by the woman's screeches.

"I said to GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!" the woman hollered for what seemed to be the seventh time. She was apparently done playing around, for she grabbed a hold of the back of George's shirt, and unceremoniously threw him out into the street. "I ain't buying anything you bloody hob knockers!" She howled, before slamming the door in George's startled face.

George blinked a few times, trying to regain his bearings. _Well… that went atrociously, _George thought.

George's _day_ was going _atrociously_. This lady throwing him into the street and calling him a hob knocker was the highlight of his day so far.

Finding witnesses to vouch in favor of the Malfoys was hard work, to put it mildly. He'd been kicked out of houses, sworn at in several different languages, hexed, cursed, and jinxed up the wahzoo, mauled by many different and _illegal_ 'pets', and bitten by a dog that he suspected to have a very malignant and contagious disease. Oh, plus, he couldn't find the counter-curse to one of the hexes placed upon him; so, he basically had a bunch of boils on his arms and legs secreting gobs of purple pus. Lovely.

He had only one possible witness, and that was a child of about 2 ¼ years of age, who had some trouble learning to talk. He took her "Goo!" as a 'maybe'.

In other words, the Malfoys had no witnesses and didn't have much hope of getting any. No one wanted to help defend the Malfoys, and for good reasons too. They were horrible excuses for human beings, let alone _magical_ human beings. They were nasty to everyone, and were outright stuck-up, pompous jerks. The magical community would do better without them. In fact, the magical community would be there to send them on their way, to say farewell to the Malfoy clan.

George still had two more names left to be crossed off on his list of possible witnesses, but what was the whole point? Everyone else on the list made it clear that there would be a cold day in heck, before they would _even_ _consider_ being witnesses for the Malfoys. If that wasn't the point, then maybe torturing George for _actively_ trying to assist the Malfoys, _was_ the point.

George, on the verge of giving up, looked up, and saw a very familiar mass of flaming red hair. George stood up from the stoop, and swiftly walked behind the figure. He tapped it on the shoulder and said in what he hoped was a cheerful voice, "Ginny!"

Ginny swiveled around and snarled at the person behind her, "_I DO NOT __**LOVE**__ HARRY JAMES POTTER! I HAVE A __**RESPECTABLE**__ BOYFRIEND!" _Then Ginny saw exactly who she was yelling her heart out to. "Oh… George… I'm so sorry. I thought you were someone else…" Ginny said bashfully, immediately deflating.

"And who did you think I was?" the still shell-shocked George asked.

"It doesn't matter," Ginny stated quickly. George's curiosity took hold.

"You don't love Harry Potter, eh?"

"Of course I don't! I'm dating Neville Longbottom, if you recall!" George suddenly became quite suspicious.

"Someone who doesn't believe that statement to be true would not get all worked up about it. That same person would also, most definitely not, scream at their brother at the top of their lungs, if they did not. And we thought Ron was the thick-headed-in-denial type."

In response, Ginny gave off her most vicious death-glare and stated in a deadly soft voice, "I. Do. Not. Love. Harry. Potter." Ginny then took note of George's arms and legs. "What on _Earth _did you do to your arms and legs? They're covered in violet warts!"

"_Well spotted_! I got hexed, and I can't find the counter-curse. I wouldn't suppose you knew it?" When Ginny shook her head "no", George wisely decided to change the subject. "So, how did your interview with Lovegood go?" Did George just hear his sister growl? George dismissed it as having been yelled at too much that day; he was starting to hear things.

Ginny was smiling sweetly, "It went well. I got useful information out of her that we can use in the case. She'll be coming to witness for us on the day of the Trial, to approve of the info we give."

George's mouth was hanging slightly open. The next words to come out of his mouth were spoken with awe. "You managed to not only get the information you need, but you managed to get her _as a witness_?"

"Yes. I hope you don't mind…"

"Don't mind? _Don't mind?_ I've been yapped at all day, dodged spells, been bitten by mutant dogs, and was peed upon by a demented cat. _I haven't got one person on our side._ Yet you talked to only one person and you've done above and beyond what was expected of you."

"Yeah…" Ginny was nervous now; was her brother angry at her for her success?

George fell to his knees before Ginny. "Please! Help me!" George pleaded dramatically. His eyes were on the verge of tears.

"Well, I have finished with my assigned task for today, and I'm free for the rest of the day.  
"Sure, I would love to help you George."

"Yes!" George cried.

"But first, we should probably get something to eat. I haven't eaten since this morning!"

***.

After having a proper feeding, George continued on with his quest, except with Ginny by his side.

Over liner (lunch/diner), Ginny had shown George the new edition of the Quibbler, and he said something akin to "A conspiracy? Only Lovegood would come up with that." And she'd also told George about the rare event of Luna Lovegood claiming that an unheard-of magical creature, did not exist. She had then decided to try to redo the old lady who thought George was a salesman. In other words, Ginny was no longer at his side. She was in front of him, and practically dragging him back there.

"No! I'm not going back there! You can't make me!" George wailed, setting the perfect example for a whiney two-year-old.

"Yes you are! I agreed to help _you _with _your _task. _Not the other way around!_" Ginny stated, starting to really struggle with the protesting George.

"Well, why can't we visit one of the ones that _haven't_ tried to turn me into a slug! Oh wait… There aren't any!" George snapped, heavy with sarcasm.

"We are going to revisit that house, even if I have to drag you on a _leash_!"

***.

Mrs. O'Brady had just finished making her cookies, when she heard a knock on the door. "It'd better not be that no good salesman again." She muttered. She grabbed her wand, and a hatchet, just in case, as she made her way to her front door. There seemed to be a mild commotion going on behind it.

"I ain't buyin' anything!" she growled as she opened her door.

On her stoop, there stood a girl of about 18 years of age, with orangey-red hair flowing gracefully down her back, with a friendly smile placed on her face. She looked as if she had dragged a million tons for the last five blocks.

In the girl's hand, she held a blue leash, which ended up holding the cutest orange terrier that the woman had ever seen, and it had obviously been the thing that had been struggling against the girl. It looked up at the woman with the prettiest blue eyes, much like sapphires. All four legs were covered with the most adorable purple spots. Was it just her, or did the dog seem slightly annoyed with its situation?

That was when the girl spoke, "I am so terribly sorry to disturb you ma'am. My name is Ginny, and this is my dog, Georgie."

The dog let out in a dull monotone, a dejected "Woof!" before it started to pace.

The girl, Ginny, tugged on its leash to get it to stop, before she continued. "We've been on a very long walk, and we got thirsty, but I forgot to bring my wand along. Could we bother you for some water, please?"

Mrs. O'Brady was anything but cruel. "Why of course child. Come on in. How can I say no to two lovely faces like that?"

The dog's eyes widened and it looked at its owner in what seemed to be new-found respect. Mrs. O'Brady thought that she'd become so old, that she was starting to go batty.

"Thank you," Ginny said, in a relieved sort of voice.

She took a step forward, and her dog, Georgie, started to pull, and struggle the opposite way. Its eyes were filled with panic. Mrs. O'Brady half expected the dog to start to yell out its obvious distress. She looked questioningly at Ginny.

"New and unfamiliar places tend to frighten him. But once we get inside, I'm sure he'll be fine." Ginny's last sentence seemed to be directed mostly at Georgie, and laced with double-meaning. Yes, Mrs. O'Brady was certain of it now; she was losing her marbles.

Once they were over the threshold, Georgie started to pitifully whine. But he stopped the noise immediately, after a particularly sharp tug on his leash. "See. I told you he would be fine once we were inside" Ginny smiled brightly. Then… "Mmmm. Are those cookies that I smell?"

"Just made them myself.

"How about we all sit in my living room while you get your drink, and you can have some of my cookies, and we can have a nice little chat. I rarely get visitors, and I get awfully lonely." Did the dog just roll its eyes?

"That would be absolutely lovely ma'am," Ginny said, smiling that smile of hers.

"Go sit in that room to the right; that is my living room. I'll be there in a jiff with your drinks and cookies."

***.

Georgie and Ginny walked into the lady's sitting room, curious as to why she called it her 'living room'. Wasn't that an American thing? They didn't have to wonder for long.

Ginny went to go sit in one of the chairs, and it growled at her. It was then, that they realized that the entire room was _breathing_. "Okay… now that's just creepy," Ginny muttered.

Georgie held a superior look on his doggy face that clearly stated "I told you so." That was when their hostess walked in, bearing a trey with tea, cookies, and was that… _dog biscuits? _Georgie bolted under the table.

"You just need to gently stroke the piece of furniture that you wish to sit on, dear. Then they won't bite. They're all part of a very rare and exquisite collection." Mrs. O'Brady told Ginny.

Both were soon occupying seats across the table from one another. Both occupied seats on two very lavish couches. And Georgie could hear what both were saying from his position under the table.

The ladies contented themselves with small-talk for awhile; things like: favorite color, hottest wizard out there, favorite flavor ice cream, best beauty parlor to visit, favorite book, current relationship status (turns out the old bat was widowed from the war), favorite school subject, and… what was happening on the news.

"So," Ginny started nonchalantly, "Did you hear of the upcoming Malfoy Trial?"

"But of course! That is the major talk on the street!" Mrs. O'Brady cried, reaching her hand back under the table, and shoving yet another dog biscuit into Georgie's mouth. He immediately spit it back out onto the floor. He was starting to have his own personal pile growing beside him. "And of course they're going to lose their Trial! Poor dears, going into that courtroom without a soul on their side." Mrs. O'Brady suddenly realized what she'd just let slip. "But of course they deserve what they are getting," She stated, puffing herself up tall in her seat.

Georgie could see that Ginny was smiling again, through the glass tabletop. "Yes, it is such a shame, for the Malfoys," Ginny practically purred, ignoring Mrs. O'Brady's desperate desire to cover her slipup. "I could let you in on a little secret, if you promise not to tell anyone."

Ginny had made this statement in such a seductive manner, that it had the old lady leaning forward in her seat, eager to hear this juicy secret. "I know for a fact that some of my friends are planning on helping the Malfoys with their case." The woman was shocked speechless, and a good thing too, otherwise, she might have missed out on the next part. "I know you are an old acquaintance of the Malfoys, and that they helped you out of a financial debt to Gringotts and the Ministry. But the question is, will you help them in return? Will you be a good witness for their case, Mrs. O'Brady? Will you join the Draco Malfoy Rescue Squad?"

***.

**A/N: I believe that is the perfect, diabolical spot to stop. Plenty of consequences could come about, depending on Mrs. O'Brady's answer. And what is up with Ginny's messed up love life? Does she still love the be-spectacled hero? And whatever happened to George? Find out these answers and more in the next chapter of DMRS! **

**If you review, it might come out faster this time… possibly anyway… **


	6. Chapter 6 Abused Dogs & Stowaways

**A/N: Hello all of my charming readers! And finally, the next update is here! WooHoo! And Happy Thanksgiving to you all, even if you don't celebrate it!**

**But I am utterly ashamed of my late update. (I mean of the time and not the chapter. ;-)) **

**I wish I had some awesome excuse, like I was too busy flying airplanes, or discovering aliens, or uncovering the meaning of life through the fossilized bones of the people of Atlantis…**

**But I don't…**

**My excuse is being overloaded with a load of work and a lot of other junk to do. (Busy, busy, busy!)**

**So, for that, (and the fact that this is almost **_**20 pages**_** on "Word") I'll hope I'll be forgiven.**

**I want to warn – lightly – of some **_**slightly**_** dark content in here, but otherwise, everything is hunky-dory!**

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter and related characters belong only to J.K. Rowling. Polly Pocket and the "Wizard of Oz", are also not mine. But Harold Hooverman, Mrs. O'Brady, Tammy, Terry, Kindelle, Yorick, Bowtly Shank, Biggly Butterman, Mark Gibbson, Mega Granny, Sherrill, Mr. Phalli, and Bridget are actually (Surprise!) mine. (Not particularly in that order…:-))**

**SOOOO… on with the next chapter! Enjoy!**

_Previously:_

"_I know for a fact that some of my friends are planning on helping the Malfoys with their case... I know you are an old acquaintance of the Malfoys, and that they helped you out of a financial debt to Gringotts and the Ministry. But the question is, will you help them in return? Will you be a good witness for their case, Mrs. O'Brady? Will you join the Draco Malfoy Rescue Squad?"_

DMRS Chapter 6_ – Abused Dogs and Stowaways_

George and Ginny-

Georgie could not believe Ginny's audacity. Ginny had just stated something disastrously equivalent to _'A couple of my friends and I are going to rob Gringotts Bank; do you mind being our look-out?' _This would not end well…

Georgie unconsciously started chewing on one of the dog biscuits located in his current stash on the floor.

Mrs. O'Brady's eyes were the size of saucers, and seemed to be in danger of rolling out of her head and onto the carpeted floor below. Her mouth was hanging slack, and her bottom lip would occasionally twitch. Her entire body was tensed, looking as if the harpies were about to attack. She had been immobile since Ginny's outburst, and for once since Ginny's visit had begun, she seemed to be at a loss for words.

To say that Ginny was starting to get a tad bit concerned would make the top 10 list in The Best Understatements of the Year Contest. "Um… Mrs. O'Brady?" Ginny began tentatively. When the young witch failed to gain a response out of the old woman, she boldly snapped her fingers in front of the elder witch's face.

Mrs. O'Brady blinked, and appeared to be coming back from a place far, far away. "Hmm?... Uh… Oh!" was Mrs. O'Brady's dazed response. She sat back in her seat, having been leaning forward to hear Ginny's juicy piece of news.

After the passage of another few awkward minutes, Mrs. O'Brady broke the silence by asking in a breathy voice, "How did _you_ know about the financial debt?"

"My father works at the Ministry… In the Cursed Muggle Items Department, and he overheard some other employees discussing it at lunch one day." Ginny was quick to add on the last part, seeing panic beginning to form in the old lady's eyes. The last thing _she_ needed was for the old witch to suspect a trap from the Ministry; that would make things more complicated than they already were.

Mrs. O'Brady visibly calmed, and she continued with that dazed sort of voice again, "Hmmm… Yes… It was very nice of the Malfoys, wasn't it?" Mrs. O'Brady's eyes took on that far away look again, and her voice now had a dreamy quality reminiscent to that of Luna Lovegood's, "Then again, Lucius had always been a nice boy. I knew him since he was a young child, not much older than you, back when I was young and spry. I had a son around his age, and they were the best of friends. They were practically inseparable. You couldn't see one, without the other being firmly attached to his hip.

"And Lucius would come over to play and hang out with Terry every day. And every day, he wouldn't fail to bring over such nice things for me and my daughter, Tammy. There were flowers galore: daffodils, daisies, marigolds, morning glories, honey suckles, pansies, buttercups, sunflowers, violets, and… roses… lovely, red roses. Not to mention the gift baskets, chocolates, jewelry, and other little trinkets to meet our fancy. I swear, little Lucius was trying his best to spoil the lot of us; even when he and Terry went out to do something, Lucius wouldn't let him spend a Knut.

Back then, I had the right notion that Lucius fancied my Tammy, because he would always bring something special, just for her. Once, he bought her this charming, little music box that played the sweetest lullaby you've ever heard; it was her favorite, out of all of his gifts, and I've kept it throughout the years.

"But of course, Lucius had his bad side. We saw it most when his father came with him on his visits, and when, on some occasions, we accidentally soiled his robes; that boy would whine up a storm if there was so much as a speck of dirt on his robes. His father could be cold as ice, but was sociable enough to speak to me whenever he joined his son in my humble abode. He didn't look down upon us with much scorn, for we were a respectable Pureblood family. Even so, he didn't see us as equals either. What a dreadful man he was. I had wondered many times how Lucius managed to be such a kind and wonderful young man with a father like that.

"Then everything came apart.

"Lucius's father had apparently discovered that his son was head-over-heels-in-love with my precious angel, Tammy. He'd accidentally stumbled upon Lucius's secret little shrine to her in the back of his closet. Before anyone could so much as blink, Lucius was betrothed to a Miss Narcissa Black, a far more respectable woman, and he was banned from ever seeing any of us again.

"Days passed… Months turned into years, and we hadn't seen hide nor hair of Lucius Malfoy. We had heard of everything that the public knew of Lucius's relationship with his wife, and if anyone saw them together, they couldn't deny how much the two obviously loved each other. But Tammy was, and always will be, his first love.

"Then the First War started. No one knew who they could trust.

"Lucius joined the Death Eaters. Terry refused. Lucius's first task to prove his loyalty was to dispose of those foolish enough to decline the Dark Lord's offer of admittance. Lucius had to get rid of Terry and his family. He had to kill his once-best-friend and the first love of his life

"I was away at a friend's house for tea on the day they attacked. When I returned mere hours later, I found the house ripped apart-" Mrs. O'Brady looked around the room, as if she could still see the devastation of that day, "- the Dark Mark was hovering above my home-," here, her voice began to break, "- and inside… I found my husband… and my children… dead…

"And the most heartbreaking thing of all… In my daughter's right hand, was a… rose… a b-beaut-tiful, red r-rose." Mrs. O'Brady's hands rose to about face-level, and their position suggested that they were holding an invisible flower. Mrs. O'Brady's eyes seemed to be able to see what Ginny's could not. Her left hand then floated a couple of centimeters above her right, and began to stroke the imaginary petals with gentle caresses, as if it was the most delicate thing in the world. Then the hand made a light plucking motion, and she put her right hand back down onto her lap, but pulled her left, closer to her face to inspect the imaginary object. When she spoke next, her tone was filled with wonder. "And inside its petals, was a small note, with only two words scrawled on it in Lucius's neat handwriting. It read: _I'm sorry_." Only then did Mrs. O'Brady breakdown.

Ginny was shocked by all of this information. Georgie had stopped chewing his biscuit.

Ginny made her decision, and removed herself from her seat. Ten seconds later found her sitting on the other couch, comforting a weeping Mrs. O'Brady. She was rubbing soothing circles on her back, and holding the older lady close, while murmuring soft words of solace.

After what seemed like hours of holding the old witch close, while she sobbed onto Ginny's clothes, her wails turned into sniffles, then whimpers, then ceased. Her head slowly rose off of Ginny's now-soggy-shoulder, so that her eyes were able to connect with Ginny's.

"I'm terribly sorry about that, dear. I just don't know what came over me." Mrs. O'Brady's voice was ruff after her crying fit.

"Oh no. Please don't be sorry for that. It's alright to mourn for lost loved ones." Ginny's eyes went glassy for a moment, before she blinked rapidly, and they cleared. "So, what do you say about helping my friends and I free the Malfoys?"

"Well, I… Hey! Didn't you say something earlier about… 'Dragon Malloy Re-shoe Squid'?"

"Draco Malfoy Rescue Squad. But it's DMRS, for short. That's what my brother decided to call our little misadventure troop, and the name kind-of stuck. But basically, we're planning to Defend the Malfoys during their Trial – for real and not one of those fake lawyer/defender things that the Ministry sets up. But we need people to be witnesses to put a good light on the Malfoys. That's where you come in, Mrs. O'Brady. So, what do you say? Will you join the DMRS?"

"I… well…" Ginny seemed to forget that breathing is essential to life; Georgie found out how annoying it is to have an old lady shoving biscuits at you, while you zealously dodged. "Alright, I'll do it." At that precise moment, she propelled the biscuit into Georgie's muzzle, Georgie opened his mouth to yelp, and, as a result, she managed to thrust a doggie treat down his windpipe.

While Georgie commenced suffocating, Ginny started to breathe again. "Oh why thank you ever so much, Mrs. -"

"Don't go thanking me, dear. I'm not doing this for you, or your friends. I'm doing this to repay the debt I owe to the Malfoys," She stated in a business-like tone. She then said in a quieter, more emotion-filled voice, "Besides… Tammy and Terry would have wanted me to."

It was hushed in the room for a long while – aside from Georgie's silent coughing fit.

Suddenly, Ginny spoke, "Well, even if you aren't doing it for us… thank you."

A small smile made a brief appearance on Mrs. O'Brady's face; the first smile, in fact, during Ginny's visit.

But Ginny's stay ended when Georgie, unceremoniously, vomited all over Mrs. O'Brady's shoes.

As the front door closed behind the redheaded girl holding a shivering purple-spotted dog, she said, "That went well. Don't you think so, Georgie?" The orange terrior had no clue whether that was a sarcastic comment, or not. He decided it was best to not say anything.

It was now dark in the street. They'd had no idea how long they'd stayed at the old woman's house. Ginny decided that she'd rather not know the time.

She walked out into the street, and placed the dog down on the cold stones. Georgie looked expectantly at the witch as she whipped out her wand.

A quick swish of the wand and a silent counter-curse later, and George the Human replaced the spot the dog used to be.

Immediately, George shot to his feet, and barked, "That was a violation of human rights! And do you have any idea how many dog biscuits that – that – that _horrible _old bat forced down my throat? Well, do you?"

Ginny seemed unperturbed by George's rather expected outburst, "Why, no. I'm sorry, but I don't. You see, I was rather caught up in getting her to be a witness for our case. Next time I'll do my best to ignore all my other duties so that I can watch out for you're wellbeing."

"Thank you. That is all that I ask… Hey, wait a moment! What do you mean '_next time_'? There _will be_ no '_next time_'!..."

While George continued to rant, Ginny started making her way down the street.

"…And furthermore – Hey! Where do you think you're going?"

"Home," Ginny tossed over her shoulder. George scurried to catch up with her. George was eager to find out if Hermione knew the counter-curse to his 'Purple-Pimple-Problem'. Ginny, on the other hand, was crossing off one day in their set of five, in her mind. _Only four more days left._

***.

Harry and Ron:

"This is hopeless!" Ron Weasely growled.

"Just keep looking Ron, I'm sure – well, 99 percent positive – that there has to be _something _here," a rather flustered Harry Potter tried, and failed, to re-assure his best friend. "After all of the trouble we've gone through to get here, I am not about to leave empty-handed; or, I will not leave until we turn this place inside-out to make sure that what we're searching for is, indeed, not here. Why don't you try that top drawer over there, Ron?"

Mr. Harry Potter was right on that one; they had gone through quite the sizable amount of trouble to get to their current destination.

_Much Earlier__:_

"Goodbye everyone, and the best of luck to you all!" Hermione Granger told the people standing on the threshold of Grimmauld Place, before she shut the door.

"I'll see you later, okay?" Ginny told them, before she Disapperated.

"My good friends, this is where we part, until fate brings us back together again!" George pretended to be getting choked-up. "Adieu!" George Disapperated to God-Knows-Where.

"You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd say that they're glad to be rid of us," Ron stated.

Harry rolled his eyes at his best friend's pessimistic statement. "Come on Ron, we had better be off; everyone else has a head-start."

Harry hooked their arms together, preparing to Disapperate, when Ron blurted, "But do you have any idea where we should start?"

"A fairly good idea, actually," Harry answered, before they were consumed by that terrible pulling and squeezing sensation.

Harry and Ron found themselves, a mere second later, in the heart London.

"Aww no! Harry! Please don't tell me we're going where I think we're going!" Harry's only response was a twitch of his mouth. His eyes lay dead ahead, right onto a red, broken-down telephone booth.

As they started their way toward the booth, Ron once again tried to appeal to his friend, "Hey Harry, don't you think they might find it the slightest bit odd that we are here on, oh I don't know, our _week off_? That it wouldn't be strange at all that after we _begged on our hands and knees_ for this week to be free for us, that we're here? If they find out what we're planning to do, we'll lose our jobs! If we lose our jobs, we won't be able to pay for our houses! If we can't pay for our houses, we won't be able to start a family-" "-Ron-" "-If we can't start a family, Hermione will leave me-" "-_Ron_-" "-If Hermione leaves me, I'll be a shell of the man I once was-" "-_Ron_-" "-If I'm a shell of the man I once was, the Ministry will stick me in a zoo, where people will look and point at me, and say 'That there is Ronald Weasely, he is now a shell of the man he once was.'-" "-RON!" Ron jumped slightly as Harry took a hold of his shoulders, effectively stopping his melodramatic rant. Ron looked beseechingly at Harry. Harry silently held up his Invisibility Cloak. "You expect us to use _that_ old thing?"

Harry arched an eyebrow, "I expect us to use 'this old thing' if you don't wish to become 'a shell of the man you once were'."

Ron sniffed, "Well, it's good to see you thinking of others Harry."

They slipped on the Invisibility Cloak before they went inside the elevator. "Harry, this thing is smaller than I remember. I mean, look! My ankles, and feet are showing! And we really have to scrunch together to be able to fit under here! Can't you use an Engorgement Charm on it?"

Harry sighed, "No, Ron. I can't use an Engorgement Charm on the Cloak. But you can use a Disillusionment Charm on your ankles."

"Hmm. That'll work."

Five more steps and one Disillusionment Charm later, and they were in the elevator. "So Harry… Now what do we do? In order to get in, we'd have to state our names, and why we're here! Do you have a plan?"

"Actually, Ron, I do have a plan. I read in the paper this morning, that there's going to be other trials today, but none of them concerning Death Eaters; you know, underage wizardry and stuff like that. So, they'd have to use this as a way of entrance-"

"And all we'd have to do is hitch a ride!" Ron finished for Harry. "That's brilliant Harry! And look, here comes our ticket right now!"

The boys both watched as a thirteen-year-old girl rounded the corner in Hufflepuff-yellow robes. The two nineteen-year-olds were just about to high-five themselves for their ingenious strategy, when the girl's grandmother soon followed her past the corner.

The grandmother was wearing sapphire, armadillo-patterned robes. Her hair resembled that of a drowned, white rat, and her face appeared to be so old, that just one touch would crumble it to dust. Her glasses were perched on the bridge of her nose, looking like they were about to take a dive right off. But that wasn't the problem facing the two stowaways. This granny had eaten one too many cookies (If you catch my drift). Now, she wasn't very large, but she was too large for three extra people to ride comfortably in the small elevator with her.

The girl got in first. Both boys gulped as Mega-Granny got in. They had to stifle their screams as she pinned them against the glass with her back. Little did they know that only a meter away from them, the young girl stood quite contentedly in front of her beloved grandma. They soon discovered another problem with this granny, as she took out her smoking pipe. The rich stench went right up into Ron and Harry's nasal cavities, and they had to bite on their tongues to keep from coughing too loudly.

As the telephone booth started its decent, Ron hissed at Harry, "Yeah, really brilliant idea, Harry."

"Shut up, Ron," Harry snapped back, which was kind of hard to do when your mouth is squished against glass.

"Oh Bridget," Granny began, taking in a long draught from her pipe. "Why did you have to implode Mr. Phalli's pet cockatoo?"

Bridget leaned resentfully against her share of telephone booth wall, and replied dourly, "Sherrill would always annoy me to no end. Her constant squawking, crowing, chirping just finally drove me over the edge. It's not my fault that my magic reacted to my feelings."

Harry felt sympathy arise within him for the girl on the other side of Omega Granny. After all, he knew too well what it's like to have no control over his magic due to his emotions.

Soon, the Ministry of Magic was in view. It was a good thing that they had the Cloak on, otherwise they'd look like a bunch two-year-olds discovering glass for the first time, and wishing to imitate their pet goldfish.

Harry was peering up at the way they'd come, when he saw the thing fall out of Mega-Granny's hair. It landed right on Ron's orange dome. Harry sucked in a quick breath. "Ron, don't move or make a sound."

Ron swallowed hard as he watched the creature slip under the Cloak. "Tell, me Harry, how _can_ I move?" Ron asked in a higher pitched voice than normal, indicating their situation, with Ron's head turned slightly in Harry's direction. Slowly, as if the creature knew of the boy's secret fear and wanted to toy with him, it crawled to the front of his head, and onto his face. Ron squeezed his eyes tightly together, and scrunched up his face as the eight-legged one moved toward his mouth. That was the last straw. Ron blew the creature, with all his might, off his face.

Ron was happy, but alas, Harry was not. He gave a loud shout as the spider unexpectedly collided with his face.

The yell startled the spider, which ended up losing its grip, and therefore became aquatinted with the floor. But of course, the loud noise did not go unnoticed by the other passengers on the Elevator Ride of Torment.

Big Granny stiffened, and the girl asked, "Grandma, what was that?"

"Why Bridget," Omega Granny began in a rickety voice, "That's just those darn ministry folks trying to scare us." Just to prove her point, granny jabbed her pipe at no place in particular, and shifted her body to follow her arm as she swung it back and forth threateningly. "If any of you pansies come near my grand-daughter, I'll shove this pipe down your throats. Then you can blow bubbles with _that_!"

It was a very moving speech, but Harry and Ron didn't have time to appreciate it, as their bodies were swabbed along the plexiglass-windows with every one of her movements.

The experience was a whole lot more painful than anyone could imagine, even with the cloak for cushioning. The air being squeezed out of their lungs escaped as loud groans, which, of course, ignited further suspicion from their fellow riders.

So much suspicion in fact, that dear-ol' granny made a three-sixty in the elevator. But of course, whenever she turned, her back would still be pressed against the glass, and therefore, Harry and Ron. The girl had to shuffle around quite a bit in order to stay in the only comfort-zone in the elevator: in front of her grandma. But no matter how much granny turned, the sounds would always stay behind her. So, Mrs. Mega Granny drew a conclusion to what was happening; the sad part is that it couldn't be further from the truth.

"Bridget, the Ministry jinxed this elevator just to torment me- uh, I mean – us! Just one little date with Mark Gibbson, and the man believes he owns you! Then when you dump him, he makes it his life's mission to torture you for it!" Grandma looked like she was about to jump out the window, when the telephone booth made contact with Earth. As soon as the Telephone booth doors opened, grandma was off like a shot, Bridget in tow.

"Best part of the ride!" Ron gasped as both he and Harry sunk gratefully to the ground, like blobs of gelatin. Everything seemed right with the world, when the telephone booth started to rise from the ground. "Hey, Harry. Does it seem to you like we're moving again?"

"No Ron. That's just our heads spinning from the lack of oxygen," Harry replied, tiredly.

"Oxy-what?"

"Oh never mind, Ron."

Either out of boredom, or sheer luck, Ron decided to look outside of the booth's windows, only to see the ground getting smaller, and smaller. It took a moment for it to register in Ron's brain what was happening, like a snail was bringing the image to Ron's brain, and was also in charge of helping to process it. When it did register, Ron hollered in Harry's ear, "HARRY, THE GROUND!" which caused Harry to jump slightly, removing the Invisibility Cloak off of his head. With horror, Harry too, watched as the ground got further away.

"Oh no you don't," Harry muttered. "Come on, Ron. We'll have to jump for it."

Ron looked at Harry like he was crazy, which would be a pretty fair assumption, due to the maniacal glint in Harry's eyes.

Without another word, Harry slipped them back under the Cloak again, and dragged Ron to his feet, toward the door.

With a deep breath, he jumped, forcing Ron to go with him. As they fell, Harry and Ron grabbed frantically at the Cloak, as it was slipping off.

Coincidentally, Harry grabbed a hold of two corners of the Cloak, and Ron grabbed the other two, therefore creating a parachute effect. But in doing so, the Cloak slipped off of them as they parachuted to the ground.

They hit the floor ungracefully, with the Cloak coving random portions of their bodies, making them look like zombies that tried to re-kill themselves by jumping off from a tremendously high height, and as a result, literally fell to pieces. With a groan, Harry and Ron sat up, and took a look at their surroundings. They had ended up landing in an empty, dark corner. They dared to let their gazes pass out into the Ministry to see what the damage was.

All of the witches and wizards were whispering and looking at something all right. Let's just say it turned out to be a good thing that they had freaked out Grandma and Bridget. Everyone was too busy watching the terrified witch dragging her granddaughter all the way across the main floor that they hadn't paid any attention whatsoever to what was going on just above their heads.

Harry and Ron were just about to breathe a sigh of relief, when a man shouted, "Did you see what fell from the sky? Anyone?" Harry and Ron immediately tensed up, and they grappled to pull the Cloak over themselves again. But, strangely enough, not a single person was listening to the man's declaration of something bizarre falling out of the sky.

Then Ron gasped in realization, "Harry, that's Harold Hooverman!"

"Who?"

"Harold Hooverman! No one is going to listen to what he says because he has been Tried several times to be relocated to an insane asylum. Even though the courts don't have enough proof yet to be able to ship him off, people still treat him like he is insane!

"Dear Mr. Hooverman was the only person apparently to see us fall out of the sky. But when he tries to tell people about it, they'll just pass it off as another symptom of his insanity. We're in the clear, Harry!" Ron exclaimed.

Ron appeared to be getting comfortable in the corner, when Harry stated, "We had better get a move on, Ron. You remember what happened the last time we rested, right?"

"But this floor doesn't lift into the ceiling!" Ron pouted.

"Yeah. So I'd rather not find out what'll happen if we idle here too long."

***.

"Harry, this is just like we're heading to work, except when we head to work, there's normally no danger if we get caught doing so." Ron shivered in the dank, musky hall to the elevator. "Brrr! Is it always this cold down here?"

"Alright, when we reach the elevator, we're going to hitch a ride, hopefully better than the telephone booth, and press the button for the floor of Magical Law Enforcement. But this time, we have to be absolutely quiet. Okay?" Harry reiterated the plan for the umpteenth time, and in the process, was able to ignore Ron's question.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I've got it, Harry." Ron mumbled.

When they reached the elevator, they had to wait at least a half hour before the annoying thing came rattling to their floor. They stepped aside as a rush of wizards came scurrying out. That meant that they had the elevator all to themselves.

Feeling happier than usual about their mission, they practically skipped inside the elevator.

They were just pondering to themselves why so many wizards bolted out of the elevator, when they were brought to the level above them. Harry and Ron looked at each other quizzically. This wasn't their floor. Before the doors opened, the Voice announced the floor, "Welcome to the Department of the Regulation and Control of Magical Beasts. And Harry Potter, I will destroy you. Have a nice day everyone." With wide eyes, Harry and Ron both looked at each other again. The Voice wasn't that of the recorded lady, but that of Lord Voldemort! Ron's mouth was gaping so wide, that he could make a dentist's dreams come true. Harry was pale enough to compete with a ghost.

Then Ron stated, "So that's why they so willingly gave us the week off. Someone must have jinxed the elevator's Voice to sound like You – Know –Who! But they probably weren't about to take any chances. There's supposedly a secret band of Death Eaters out there, Harry. And they want your blood. They probably also want your head on a silver platter, seasoned with basil and oregano."

"What, no parsley?" Harry asked sarcastically, if not hysterically.

"Nope. You're not good enough for parsley, Harry" Ron answered in a tone of voice that stated 'I am now trying to lighten the mood by joking along with you to help lighten the load that I so idiotically just put on your shoulders.' And yes. That was purposely a mouthful.

Then the doors clanged open. The boys immediately fell silent.

Two grown wizards walked delicately inside. The doors shuttered close, and they began their ascent once more. Harry and Ron squished themselves against the wall furthest from the men, as they began to speak.

"I do believe that I heard voices in here not a moment ago…" The taller one stated, curiously.

"Probably just the voices of those idiots from the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures' that think that it's a good idea to keep a man-eating hippopotamus alive, still echoing around in that brain of yours," the other easily disregarded his companion's thoughts.

"You know, Kindelle, it is such a shame about the Malfoys, is it not?" The man with a long, pointed nose and a black beard, that curled when it reached about the center of his neck, inquired the other after a moment of silence.

Kindelle, a sun kissed, clean-shaven man with dark brown hair replied, "I completely agree, Yorick. But it is their own fault, is it not? They were the ones who decided to stick around like a bunch of lost puppies after the fall of the Dark Lord, until the Aurors cornered them."

"Hmm. Yes. And dear old Narcissa took quite the risk, lying to the Dark Lord about the Potter boy's life. Why, if the Ministry didn't have her locked away, I'd take my hands around that pale little throat of hers and -" Yorick made a squeezing motion with his hands. Harry and Ron gulped.

"I concur, Yorick. But, it still is such a shame to lose such old supporters of the Dark Lord. Why, it'd be another death of a pure-blood line. And we all know how scarce those are, now-a-days," Kindelle stated with little remorse.

"Although that statement is true, Kindelle, I will have so much enjoyment convicting them to die." Yorick and Kindelle let out evil, humorless laughs.

"Yorick, no matter how appealing that thought may be, I am still mulling over the concept of gloriously swooping the Malfoys out of the courtroom, while spontaneously announcing to the world that the followers of the Dark Lord are still very much a threat." Kindle told Yorick seriously.

"But Kindelle, doing so fifty feet below ground, in a courtroom full of Aurors and Demetors, would be sealing our own funerals, would it not?" Yorick spoke with rationality in his voice. "It is best to conserve the members we still have, before we extend our hands to new ones."

"You speak the truth Yorick. But imagine what we could use the Malfoys for afterwards? Lucius is still a very devoted follower of the Dark Lord's beliefs. He is willing to follow the commands of his superiors, and isn't too squeamish when it comes to torture and the kill. We could use another man like him. As for his wife and son… well, you could get your wish fulfilled concerning Narcissa," Kindelle said with a toothy grin. "Draco, though, has proven willing to do his duties with the right motivation, but he lacks the devotion that this group currently needs so dearly, if we are to survive." With a twisted smile, Kindelle said, "We could let Greyback have fun with him. It has been awhile since he was allowed such a treat."

"I hear the boy has a good pair of screaming lungs in him," Yorick commented gleefully.

Then, by the grace of God, the elevator rattled to a stop at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. When the doors opened after the chilling voice of Voldemort stating, "Welcome to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. And Harry Potter, I will destroy you. Have a nice day everyone." the boys scrambled out of the elevator as quietly as possible. Yorick and Kindelle looked curiously around the empty hallway, having been expecting someone to be there to hop on. But then they shrugged it off as the 'dang elevator malfunctioning again'.

Harry and Ron made sure that the two Death Eaters were out of sight, before being sick all over the nice, shiny floor.

***.

"Harry, if I wasn't very devoted to this 'saving Malfoy' thing earlier, I sure am now," Ron told Harry after their stomachs had calmed. "I wouldn't wish those guys even on my worst enemy."

Harry nodded, still slightly green around the gills. "We can't let the Malfoys fall into their hands. They'd be dead before they finish walking through the courtroom doors."

"Great. Just what we needed. Another enemy to worry about.

"So, where to next, Harry?"

"Shhh, Ron! We have to be quiet again from this point forward!" Harry whisper-yelled. "We're going to try to get into Kingsley's office, because as Head Auror, he would most likely have all of the files, and what happened to the other Death Eaters in the Trials, there."

"WE'RE BREAKING INTO THE BOSS'S OFFICE?" Ron yelped loudly. At Harry's alarmed glare, Ron immediately quieted his voice, "Sorry, Harry. We're breaking into the boss's office?"

"Yes," Harry gritted out between clenched teeth.

"Okay. I was just double-checking."

They walked past many offices and down many uncharted hallways. Within their travels they saw a bunch of Aurors hauling criminals into their offices. There was Bowtly Shank, who was charged for eating his neighbor's cat, after it allegedly did a tap dance on his roof while he was trying to sleep. Then there was also Polly Pocket, who sold enchanted miniature figurines of herself to muggle children to make some easy money. Another happened to be Biggly Butterman who was the worst of all. He was charged of depleting the wizard butter supply due to buying up all of the butter on the market to take a melted-butter-bath. That diabolical fiend.

As they walked past all of the caught criminals, Ron stated, "Wow, it's like there's no evil wizards or witches out there after the downfall of You-Know-Who and his followers."

"No Ron. It's just that the real evil witches and wizards are much more difficult to identify, and they hide their true natures well," Harry rebuked his friend. They both thought of Kindelle and Yorick. Harry and Ron shuddered.

When they finally reached Kingsley's office, they realized that people were already inside. Ron opened his mouth to say something to Harry, but Harry swiftly moved his finger to his lips, gently shushing him.

With a deep breath, Harry soundlessly turned the door handle to the office, opened the door wide-enough for he and Ron to slip through, single-file. Once they were in the office, Ron just as quietly shut the door behind them. Both of them soon became conscious of the fact that when Ron had closed the door, part of the Cloak had chickened out and tried to make a run for it, and had gotten wedged between the door and the wall connected to it.

Ron tugged futilely against the trapped cloth, while Harry grimaced and looked around at their surroundings.

It was the same, familiar office that Harry had always gone to in order to get his assignments and file mission reports. It was the same, old, cluttered office that was in dire need of organization, but sadly would not get any. It was the same office that had filing cabinets bursting at the seems with all of their paperwork. It was the same old furniture that had always been here for stoppers-by, with harsh wooden chairs, just for the criminals to sit in when they were brought before the Head Auror. It was the same old magenta shag carpet on the floor. And it was the same old, familiar Kingsley Shacklebolt sitting behind his desk. But what wasn't the same, but certainly old, was the toad-like creature standing before the Head Auror.

Her code of dress stayed the same over the years: it was still an atrocious, violent pink color, as if she had tried to scrub off the blood of all of the people she had harmed, and received this color as a mark instead. Her voice was still that of a sweet, innocent child, but it had a bite to it like a vampire. Her short stature and semi-polite nature would have anyone think they were in the presence of a nice, kind, picturesque, ladylike woman. That is, until they looked into her eyes. Her eyes belied her outward appearance. They were dark, hallow, and cold. Oh yes, a never ending sea of cold. One could drown in it if they got too close. That was the reason why she hated children and loved the Slytherins. You see, children have this built-in protection system in their bodies that tells them the true nature of a person's heart. It is a protection mechanism, a survival technique that tells them whether they're 'the right sort' to be around. But in the Slytherins' cases, they had been hanging around with the 'wrong sort' since birth, and therefore, their protection system is all messed up and confused, and it can't tell the difference anymore. So they then rely on the only people that they feel would know the difference: their parents and guardians. Hence, if their parents say that 'so-and-so is a bad person', they'd stay away, but if they said that 'so-and-so is a good person to be around', then they'd stick around them. Hmm… maybe that's how the trouble with old snake-face got started. But any who…

Harry barely suppressed the bile that rose in his throat at the sight of her. But he was stopped from leaping across the floor and tackling her to the ground, by Ron's warning hand on his shoulder. He had apparently given up his useless tug-of-war with the door. He put a finger to his lips and tugged at his ear. _Be quiet and listen._

"… and I wanted to say what a _lovely_ job you've been doing here-"

"Please, spare me the small talk, and tell me why you're here," Kingsley's voice was quick, yet tired, as if she'd worn him down the moment she walked through his door.

Umbridge straightened herself, her demeanor changing. "We wanted you to double – no, triple – check the files again. Make absolutely sure that no one will be coming to their 'rescue' in five days. Triple – no – quadruple the Azkaban guard. Make certain that not a single soul can reach them to help. Torture them, and rough them up a bit before the Trial. You know how much we love to see them so frightened and squirm before us. But I want you to do it more to them than what you did to the others. There will be a Live audience this time. They'll want to see them in pain for what they've done," her eyes were sparkling with a whole new evil in them.

Kingsley's face had a horrified look on it. "But-"

"You would dare to defy a direct order from the Minister himself?" Umbridge practically cried in outrage at the obvious start of a contradictory statement. "Oh, the sheer treachery of it all!"

"First of all, receiving an order from your lips does not qualify as being 'a direct order from the Minister himself.'

"Secondly, what you are… requesting… of me and my Aurors, would be the only treachery here… It would be a betrayal of the citizens of Great Britain," Shacklebolt rebutted. Harry and Ron both felt new respect for the man growing within them, along with further detestation for the Toad-woman now leaning forward threateningly across the Head Auror's desk.

Umbridge was towering over Kingsley, their faces a mere centimeter apart. While Kingsley had his poker face on, Umbridge's face was the picture of pure fury, lightening shooting out of her blazing eyes, eager to strike the man before them down. "I don't care who you receive the order from, dear Kingsley. An order is still an order. Follow it!" Her candy cane-sweet voice froze over and snapped out the last two words. Kingsley flinched.

Umbridge spun swiftly on her heel, walking brusquely toward the door, where our heroes are still trapped. As the Beast drew ever nearer, the two boys renewed their efforts to free their cloaking device with impressive vigor. But, it wasn't enough.

When Umbridge was one step away from walking into the two crouched bodies, Harry and Ron ceased in their attempts to escape their self-made trap, in favor of shifting out of her path. She stopped with three stubby fingers perched on the door handle. Harry and Ron discontinued breathing.

The foul woman turned her head back in Kingsley's direction. "And remember, sweetheart," she started off in the voice that insulted all innocent little children, "Make certain no one will be coming to their rescue. We wouldn't want our quarry to escape us, would we?" As she spoke, her hand turned the doorknob, opening the door enough for Ron to pull the Cloak free. Harry and Ron swiftly scrabbled to the safety offered by a nearby desk. And not a moment too soon.

Umbridge had opened the door completely, stuck her nose high in the air, threw one last, threatening glare in Kingsley's direction, and was through the gaping door in a matter of seconds. Kingsley, Ron, and Harry were left gazing at the place that she'd once been. Then, with a sigh, Kingsley placed his head in his hands.

After the passage of a couple seconds, the Head Auror solemnly remarked on Umbridge's last statement, "Heh… It would be a miracle if they escaped."

***.

After about a half an hour, or 248 Ron-breaths later, Kingsley finished writing and sending off several letters and documents to a bunch of nameless people. Then, Kingsley left, darkening the room as he did so. Most likely, he went to organize his Aurors, and give them their newest orders.

Harry and Ron waited about a minute after Shacklebolt's departure, before throwing the Cloak off themselves. "Finally!" Ron gasped. He stood up with Harry, gratefully stretching his disused, stiff, and aching limbs.

"Alright, Ron. Let's go check those cabinets," Harry stated, gesturing vaguely toward the bursting cabinets aligning the walls.

Ron's eyes widened. "You mean, we're going to check all _those_?"

"If we have to, then yes."

_Hundreds of Drawers Later a.k.a.: The Present_

"_Why don't you try that top drawer over there, Ron?"_

Ron grumbled slightly, but did as he was told, because, quite frankly, he didn't have a better idea of what to do. He yanked the drawer open with some force, and glanced through the files:

**Attempted Gringotts's Burglaries**

**Store Break-ins: 1930-1978**

**Smuggled illegal animals: 1950-1985**

**Mugged Muggles**

**Mugged Wizards and Witches**

**Mugged Goblins and Werewolves and Vampires**

After reading the last file listed, Ron couldn't help himself, and yelped, "Oh my!"

Harry was at his side in a heartbeat, "What is it? What did you find?"

Ron was still putout at Harry for making him check yet another drawer in the first place, so he didn't feel too guilty when he said, "I found 'Mugged Goblins and Werewolves and Vampires'… Oh my!" Ron then proceeded to laugh his butt off. Harry rolled his eyes heavenward. _Ever since Hermione decided to show him _'The Wizard of Oz'…

"Come on, Ron. We'd better get back to work. We don't know when Shacklebolt's coming back."

"Okay… Okay," Ron replied, trying to regain his breath. "But you've got to admit that that was funny, Harry."

Harry tossed the sarcastic word over his shoulder, "Hilarious."

They searched 27 more drawers, but each was more fruitless than the last.

"Ron, we can't give up now! We can do this!"

"Harry, even you don't sound like you believed that."

Harry let a sigh fall from his lips. "Fine, just a few more drawers, and we'll call it a day, alright?"

"Best plan of action the entire day!"

Harry only grunted in response. When Ron started to reach for another drawer, he stopped himself, an idea forming in his head.

"Hey, while you check some more of these drawers, I'm going to try the drawers at the boss's desk."

Harry spun around swiftly, catching Ron before he could even take a step. "You're going to _what?_"

"Look in the boss's drawers, why?"

"But those are _Kingsley's_ drawers! We'd be breaking a bond of trust!"

"Hey, we already _broke into his office_. I see no reason why I shouldn't."

Harry colored slightly at this, and released his hold on his friend.

Ron scurried quickly behind Shacklebolt's desk, and plopped himself in the cushiony chair found there. He placed his hands behind his head, and practically squealed out, "So this is why he prefers to always be in here. He wants to be in this thing."

Harry's voice sounded next to Ron's ear as he began to doze off. "Sorry to bug you, Sleeping Beauty, but Drawer-Checking Duty calls." Ron practically shot to the ceiling, much to Harry's great amusement.

"Don't you know that it's rude to interrupt people when their dreaming, Harry?"

Harry didn't answer, but the entertained gleam in Harry's eyes was answer enough. Harry turned away, and he started rifling through Kingsley's drawers.

Ron was almost in Snooze Land again, when Harry shouted, "Ron, I think I've found something!"

***.

**A/N: Oooh. I wonder what our little hero has found out this time around? And does anyone else really want to whack Umbridge a good one? And what did ya think of that little Lucius-bit I threw in there?**

**I'll do my best to get the next chapter out soon, and as soon as I possibly can. Sooooo….**

**Please have mercy on this author and REVIEW! 3 3**


	7. Chapter 7 Restrictions

**A/N: Hello everyone! Long time huh? Thanks so much for the reviews! They're very appreciated and desired! Also, I'm glad to know that people really liked that Lucius-bit I tossed in there. Anyway… next chapter! Enjoy! **

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter and related characters belong to JKR. But Yorick, and Mrs. O'Brady are mine.**

"_Ron, I think I've found something!"_

DMRS chapter 7 – _Restrictions_

Harry and Ron:

Ron jerked violently out of Kingsley's chair, as the unexpected sound of Harry's voice cut through the silence of the darkened room. Ron's world spun around him, as his head came in contact with the floor. He stayed where he was, until everything stopped moving.

He rose carefully off of the ground in slow movements, not wishing to disturb any of his newly acquired wounds. He crept delicately to where Harry was waiting impatiently, with a heavy-looking file in hand.

Harry arched an eyebrow, clearly not impressed; Ron scowled.

"So what did you find that was important enough to ruin my nap?" Ron asked crankily. "It had better be something to make this whole trip worth while."

Harry's eyes glowed at that statement, and he regally presented the manila folder he was holding to Ron. Ron went cross-eyed as the clearly abused file was thrust under his nose.

"Harry," Ron ground out, a hint of annoyance coloring his tone. "I can't see anything this close up to my FACE! Just in case you didn't happen to know that little fact already!"

Harry's eye twitched in response, and the final result of Ron's mini-explosion was the file being lowered onto Kingsley's desk, albeit reluctantly. The folder's name emblazoned upon the cover flashed defiantly up at the wizards peering down on it:

**Death Eater Files**

**RESTRICTED**

The boys both swallowed and glanced at each other. "Well, Harry. We're at the Point of No Return," Ron mumbled.

Harry gave his friend one of… _those _looks. "Ron, we passed the Point of No Return when we all agreed to help-" Harry silenced himself and did a quick glance around before whispering, "You-Know-Who."

"WE'RE HELPING VOLDEMORT?" Ron exclaimed, reacquainting himself with Kingsley's carpet.

Harry could have hit himself in the forehead for his stupidity. In fact, he did. Repeatedly.

"That's not who I meant by that!" Harry yipped, after his 'Dobby Moment' was over. "You know _exactly _who I meant when I said that!"

"Do I?" Ron's voice was laced with sudden suspicion.

Harry stared incredulously at his so-called friend. "Ron, I say this to you now, because we're such good friends, and someone really has to tell you this other than Hermione.

"I mean this with no disrespect, but… you can _really _be an _absolute idiotic _MORON_!_" Harry bellowed.

"_What?_ _Me_, the _'absolute idiotic moron' _**here**? You've _got _to be joking! You're the one who completely switched objectives here! And _you're_ the one calling _me _**stupid!**" Ron hissed at Harry from his position on the floor.

Harry was about to retort, but stopped himself. He took in a deep breath and visibly calmed with the exhale. His tensed muscles relaxed, folding in on themselves. Harry's shuttered eyelids slowly opening, revealing tamed, glowing, emerald eyes. Harry formed his next sentence carefully and delicately. "Ron… what exactly did we come here to do?"

Ron thought it a rhetorical question, until he saw the honest question in Harry's gaze. Ron smirked as he replied, "We came here to gather information on past Death Eater Trials."

"Yes," Harry affirmed the facts that came out of Ron's mouth. Starting to massage his temples, Harry continued in his questioning, "And we're gathering data to assist whom, exactly?"

Ron started sneering out his response, "We're _supposedly _'gathering data' to help the Mal- Oh!" Ron cut himself off. Harry watched as the light bulb went flashing on in Ron's head, and he knew that his friend finally understood.

Harry arched an eyebrow as he watched his comrade stare at him, mouth slightly agape. "So _that's_ why you didn't say their real names! The Ministry might be listening in!" Ron swiftly slapped a hand to his mouth, as this realization hit him hard. He dragged widened eyes upwards to connect with his companion's, apologetically. Now _that_ explained why Harry had tried to do as little talking as possible on the trip. _Garr! I am sooo _stupid_!_ Ron mentally kicked himself for not shutting up, when their journey began.

The redhead residing on the ground quickly picked himself up, so as to stand shoulder to shoulder – well, raven head to Orangey's shoulder – with his best mate.

They looked at each other, before simultaneously nodding, and placing one of their hands on the file's cover, and pulling it open…

***.

Hermione:

Hermione Granger waved final goodbyes to her friends as she closed the door in their soon-to-be-gone faces. She peeked out of the door's window and watched as the last of her friends Apparated away, her eyes lingering a second longer on the spot once occupied by a rather gloomy red-head. She smiled to herself as she turned her back to the door and glided down the deserted hallway.

The witch climbed down a flight of stairs and turned left, into a room that she loved: Grimmauld Place's library. A vast collection of Wizarding World books and magazines filled its walls and scraped its ceiling. Stepping within its depths, Hermione inhaled the heavenly smell wafting around her, circling her body upwards to tickle at her small nose. _Ahhh, books._

But she wasn't here to peruse the shelves, on a constant search for nothing in particular, today. No, for she was on a mission. Even this mere thought sent chills through her body, awakening her muscles and propelling them forward, ready for usage. Her mind snapped on, her computer of a brain eager to add more information to its already large amount of knowledge.

Her eyes ghosted over shelves as she prowled the numerous isles, ever the lioness on the hunt. Nimble fingers gently stroked each and every spine she passed with a loving caress, leaving behind traces of her magic to set the books tingling, letting them know that she cared for them all. Soon, the whole library was quivering from her touch, relishing the feeling of love. The library returned the favor, pulling out the books it felt she would need.

Hermione's eyes twinkled as the library sent a table and chair her way, followed by a bunch of its books. She sat down as the reading material sorted itself into neat stacks, reaching about a meter high each.

The witch allowed her hand to travel to the first book atop the closest pile. But she chucked it immediately after reading the startling title

She clucked her tongue as she watched all of the books in the related pile soar away in an insulted manner. _Well, _Hermione thought to herself as she regarded the leaving books, _hopefully I'll get through all of these as fast as I went through those…_

She was shocked to turn back to the table to find that the stacks had moved closer, taking up the previous stack's space. With a deep breath, she forced her hand atop the next pile to grab the highest book. On its way toward the tabletop, Hermione somehow managed to convince herself that this one would be better than the last.

Sadly, she couldn't have been more wrong. When her eyes grazed over the cover, she ridded herself of the nasty thing quicker than the first, a blush flourishing on her cheeks. Why _on Earth, _would the library believe she would even _**need**__ such a thing?_

She watched morosely as the related books went to go comfort their rejected brother. She turned her head back to the remaining stacks awaiting her judgment. There had to be at least a hundred stacks of books; this would take up the rest of the day, if not most of the night. She sighed, resigned to her fate, and allowed herself to examine the next heap.

***.

George and Ginny:

Diagon Alley was deserted, except for two, lone, cloaked figures making their way down the once bustling street. Their steps were quick, wholehearted in the quest of going home, where it was warm and safe. As they traveled, the figures talked. No, allow me to rephrase that: As the figures traveled, their loud bickering could be heard from any point on the street, and their hooded, fiery red hair would distinguish them from anyone in a crowd. Their squabbling ricocheted off of the walls lining the street, and dissolving into the darkness of the night above.

Their constant chatter prevented them from the realization of the fact that they were being followed by a pair of brown eyes. These brown eyes were connected to a face hidden in the shadow of their hood, all but a pointed nose showed. The body with which held the face was bent slightly, crippled by age and was shielded by a black robe. The feet, which held the body, which held the face, which held the brown eyes stalking the two travelers, stood on the edge of the shadows, provided by the tall, encompassing walls of a side alley.

As the two figures neared the mouth of the alley, an aged, but skilled hand, darted out of the alley's depths, and caught hold of the shorter one's cloak. The two travelers stopped their quarrelling in favor of putting their mouths to the better use of screaming. The hand clutching the sleeve of the smaller body tightened its grip, before withdrawing its hand into the shadows, dragging the shrieking Ginny with it. In a last attempt at freedom, Ginny flailed her remaining hand about, to end with a fistful of George's robe. Sadly, this act accomplished only one thing: dragging George with her.

Once the darkness of the alley had swallowed them, the hooded being covered the two screaming mouths with its hands, consequently shoving the bodies attached, against one of the alley's walls. The dampness encasing the wall instantly started to seep into the material of George's and Ginny's cloaks and robes, causing them to shudder at the sudden moisture eating away at the warmth of their bodies.

Ginny and George both stared defiantly at the eyes of their shrouded captor, daring it to do its worst. Their kidnapper chuckled when Ginny and George bit down on its hands, apparently finding humor in their effort to free themselves.

Then, quick as a flash, the being had pulled its wand from within its cloak and cast a silencing spell on its two prisoners. Next, the cloaked figure conjured a pair of handcuffs, which it snapped onto Ginny's and George's wrists, too thick for them to place their hands in their pockets, where their wands lay. Once attached, the handcuffs grew chains, which the figure took in its frail hand, with a strong grip. It then proceeded to pull its prisoners down the dark alley, their footsteps reverberating throughout the alley as they went.

***.

Harry and Ron:

Harry and Ron realized their mistake a little too late. When they opened up the folder, a horrible shrieking and shouting filled the air. With horrified looks plastered on their faces, they swiftly slammed the folder shut. But it didn't help one bit; the Restricted File continued to holler.

With some quick thinking on Ron's part, (surprising, right?) he whipped out his wand and cast _Silencio _on the vibrating, yelling folder. Both boys let out a sigh of relief as the folder fell silent, but still quavered a lot. Yet, their moods shifted again at the sound of approaching footsteps. Harry and Ron froze.

Harry glanced around for the Cloak, and found that it was halfway across the room; there wasn't enough time to attempt to reach the Cloak. "Hide!" Harry whispered to Ron.

While Ron dashed about to find an acceptable hiding spot, Harry shoved the file into his cloak for safe-keeping, and dove under Shacklebolt's desk. Ron discovered an alcove within the columns and rows of cabinets at one of the room's corners; he climbed over the two adjacent cabinets shielding the alcove, and slipped into the small square space it provided.

What perfect timing.

The door to the office flew open, and with a crash, came in contact with the wall behind it. Shacklebolt and two other Aurors came barging inside of the office, wands drawn. Their eyes flickered about the room, trying to locate the intruders; they looked like a bunch of squirrels jacked up on coffee, with how 'on-edge' they appeared.

"Spread out," Shacklebolt's voice ordered the other two. Not a second passed before the orders were being followed. Ron could see what was happening due to the crack that the two cabinets provided at where they touched.

The Aurors overturned tables and chairs. But due to their obvious search for a person, they failed to notice the Invisibility Cloak that was lying quite visibly on the floor a few meters away. When they were about to overturn Kingsley's desk, Kingsley shouted, "What do you think you're doing? Don't touch my desk!" The perpetrators backed away from the desk with their hands raised in a 'don't shoot me' position.

As one of the Aurors backed off, the back of his left knee collided with the edge of an open filing cabinet. He let out a surprised yelp, before clutching at his smarting leg, yelling out words that Ron was certain that Hermione wouldn't approve of. The three adults in the room suddenly saw the state of the cabinets aligning the walls. Ron silently berated himself and Harry for not closing the drawers once they were finished looking through them.

"What is this, Kingsley? Someone has been ruffling through your drawers!" The other Auror that wasn't cradling an injury exclaimed.

"I do believe that we all see that!" Kingsley snapped. "Why didn't you notice this in the first place?" Ron had to bite his tongue pretty hard to prevent himself from releasing a trumpet of a laugh. _How on Earth did these imbeciles become Aurors? I believe I shall never know! Shame…_

"Probably the same reason you didn't," the uninjured Auror muttered.

But the other Auror obviously felt that he had to defend his own honor. "Well, Boss, your drawers always look a mess and busting away at their confines. It doesn't surprise me that we couldn't tell the difference!" Ron felt a flash of anger jolt through his system, as the injured Auror insulted Kingsley's organizational abilities.

"Maybe if you become more observant, you won't walk straight into a big, fat, wide-open drawer," Kingsley shot back. "Now, check to see if anything was stolen!"

The Aurors swiftly went to their work, not wishing to agitate their Superior any further. Ron fought back a snicker at their dour looks.

Meanwhile, under Kingsley's desk Harry had a front row seat to the altercation. The constant vibrating on his side was, in least, starting to get a tad uncomfortable. Harry began to feel nervous when he couldn't see Kingsley's feet any longer from his position. His eyes darted about, trying to locate the Head Auror. Green eyes fell upon the pair of shoes that just came into view on the other side of the desk.

Harry heard Shacklebolt suck in a quick breath as he noticed the state in which his drawers were in. Harry closed his eyes in shame. Then, his eyes zipped open as he realized Shacklebolt would discover the missing file!

Harry stuck his hand inside his cloak and pulled out the still-shaking-file. Sweat began to pool on his forehead at the sound of Kingsley going through the drawers of his desk. In the span of a moment, Harry's wand was in his hand and he'd whispered a duplicating spell, said too softly for even a dog to pick up. Soon enough, two identical, shivering files were in his hands. With a swiftness comparable to the speed of a striking viper, the replica was delicately placed on the floor next to the group of drawers that Kinsley had yet to check. Harry watched the duplicate with curiosity, as it ceased its terrible shuddering after Harry had released his grip upon it. He then placed the real document within his robes again.

Harry watched with growing apprehension as Kingsley's drawer shifting had come to a complete stop. Harry's assumption that Kingsley had figured out which file was taken, was proven correct as Shacklebolt renewed his search with the air of panic that states: 'Oh, no! Something this important _can't _go missing!'

Then, Shacklebolt's movements stilled again; Harry crossed his fingers. Like a hawk swooping down upon its prey, Shacklebolt practically dove upon the file. Harry's breath stopped in his throat as he waited for the moment of when he'd be seen. He was in for a shock though, when Shacklebolt straightened back up with out a glance his way. Harry joined Shacklebolt in exhaling a sigh of relief. Apparently, Kingsley had had tunnel vision concerning the discovery of the folder, and, much like his ignorant fellows, refused to pay attention to the world circulating around him. Harry was pretty positive that Slytherins would have been impressed by Harry's little stunt.

After Shacklebolt had 'replaced' the 'missing file', he joined his comrades in examining the cabinets along the walls. _Now, Slytherins would be _really _impressed if I managed to get Ron and myself out of this situation without being caught!_

That's when the idea hit him.

Like a mouse peeking carefully out of its hole, Harry's head cautiously peeped from around the corner of the desk, until his eyes were able to rest upon the three forms within the room. Good, their backs were turned. They had their heads shoved into cabinet drawers, looking for any signs of thievery.

Harry's wand was immediately used for a Disillusionment charm (just to be safe). Then Harry was crawling out from his hiding spot and into plain view. His movements were similar to that of a cat on the prowl, as he stalked closer to his Invisibility Cloak.

Harry released the breath that he hadn't known he was holding, when he reached his beloved possession without any added strife. Without the slightest hesitation, Harry tossed the Cloak over himself and glanced around the room for a particular red-head.

Harry's hunting eyes landed upon the sight of an index-finger wriggling out of a crack between two of the cabinets. After some closer inspection, Harry saw the flash of red he was looking for, along with the brief appearance of a blue eye.

Before Harry started to move towards his friend, he peered out of the corner of his right eye to get a peek at what the other three occupants were up to. Their heads were still among the drawers.

With his other worries assuaged for now, he returned his gaze back to his best mate. In three long strides, he was in front of the crack. "Ron," Harry breathed, barely above a whisper. Ron's eyes pinned to the place he believed Harry's eyes were. He was listening. "Ron, place a Disillusionment charm over yourself and climb out slowly, and carefully."

"But, Harry, I'll be seen!" Ron whispered back, slightly panicky.

With an evil smirk unbeknownst to the redhead, Harry confidently told Ron, "No, you won't."

Ron nodded, trusting the judgment of his friend.

Harry waited until he knew that Ron was ready, and then, aiming his wand strategically at one of the furthest cabinets in the room, muttered, "_Reducto!_"

In the chaos that followed, much was accomplished.

At the sound of exploding cabinets, the three Aurors spun toward the source of the noise. As they stared in a shell-shocked manner at the imploded cabinets with paper snow littering the floor everywhere, they didn't pay attention to a Mr. Harry Potter as he swiftly waved his partner-in-crime out from behind two adjacent cabinets, shielding a rather perfect hiding spot. Nor did they pay any mind, as Mr. Ronald Weasley slid under Mr. Harry Potter's Invisibility Cloak. Neither did they realize that their quarry was escaping them through the still-wide-open door.

***.

Hermione:

Hermione was almost through the thirtieth stack of books, when the door bell rang. Hermione growled softly as the annoying sound cut through her concentration like a steal blade.

"I'm coming! I'm coming!" Hermione shouted, as the agitating noise came again, not even a minute later. She stood, and walked brusquely out of the Library, toward the stairs, and, eventually, the front door. She winced slightly as she caught sight of her reflection in a vase as she walked by.

Hermione looked terrible. Her hair had become unnaturally frizzy due to her frustration, and bits and pieces were sticking out every which way. She had accumulated a nice matching pair of blood-shot eyes and purple bags hanging beneath them. Oh, and there was a small pimple appearing on the right side of her forehead, but that didn't have anything to do with her hard work in the library. In a set of dingy robes she'd found in one of the guest rooms, she looked like a ragamuffin. And she was not pleased about that at all.

As the witch walked past the screeching portrait of Mrs. Black, Hermione banged a fist against the portrait, in no mood for her antics. Surprisingly, that shock shut up Madame Black really well.

With a look of vengeance in her eyes, Hermione tore open the front door. The sight that met Hermione's eyes managed to swipe any of the annoyance off the witch's face. In fact, this sight was rather unnerving.

A dark cloaked figure stood on her doorstep; it was covered from head to toe, making it indistinguishable. In its boney hands, it grasped two chains, which connected to two identical handcuffs, which, in turn, were attached to Ginny and George's wrists. They both looked very haggard.

Then, the cloaked figure spoke, "I believe that these belong to you." The figure tugged gently on the chains with which it held, to show Hermione what it meant. The voice was definitely feminine.

When Hermione moved to take the chains, the shrouded woman held them out of her reach.

"Uh-uh-uh," the woman tutted, wagging a pointer-finger back and forth. Then, with the same hand, she showed Hermione an open palm.

Hermione stared at it for a moment, before looking toward the face hidden by the cloak's hood. She silently cursed herself for leaving her wand stupidly in the Library. "How much?" she asked.

"20 Galleons," the figure replied. "10 for each."

Hermione gave a curt nod, before digging her hands in her pockets, resurfacing with 20 Galleons. The two made the switch rapidly, shoving the items with which each held, in the other's waiting hands.

Hermione could hear the smile in the being's voice as she stated, "It was a pleasure doing business with you." Then, the being melted into the shadows, just outside the reach of the porch light.

Once all were safely inside, Hermione turned to the freed captives. "What happened?" She asked delicately.

She was unprepared for George snapping, "Malfoy's Trial happened! That's what!" The clearly ruffled wizard then shoved past Hermione to ascend the stairs leading to his room.

With a look of slight astonishment gracing her face, Hermione turned her questioning eyes to Ginny. The younger witch merely shrugged.

Then Ginny told Hermione, "If you find the Blacks' Penseive, I'll share the memory with you." As Hermione began to turn away to begin her search, Ginny added, "I'll also get you the 10 Galleons to pay you back."

Hermione nodded stiffly, before plodding away.

***.

"Okay, Ginny, I've found the Penseive!" Hermione called from somewhere down the basement. The witch trudged carefully up the stairs, doing her best to keep the magical basin from spilling its contents.

Hermione stalked into the Blacks' drawing room, and laid the Penseive on the coffee table. The next moment found her hollering throughout the house, "Ginny! I'm in the drawing room with the Penseive!" Hermione sat down on the couch, in front of the Penseive, while she waited for the other witch to arrive.

Eventually, Ginny's form graced the threshold of the doorway to the drawing room. The red-haired witch walked carefully into the room, hand fiddling with something in her pocket. When she reached the Penseive, and therefore Hermione, Ginny fished out the thing she'd been fiddling with: her wand, and a small sac of money.

Ginny forked over the bag containing 10 Galleons to Hermione. Hermione took the bag with slightly widened eyes, and glanced at Ginny. But Ginny's gaze was not attached to Hermione, but rather, to the Penseive.

Eyes still locked on the swirling depths, Ginny raised her wand to her temple, and pulled out a small stream of writhing blue. Gently, she tapped her wand against the outer ring of the bowl, watching as the memory easily and readily slipped off the tip of her wand, to fall and mix with the rest of the contents.

Ginny then smiled at the other witch in the room, as if a great weight was lifted from her. Ginny left the room, in order to allow Hermione to sift peaceably through the memory.

***.

Memory:

_Ginny was walking, chained at the wrists, down a long stretch of alleyway, her brother beside her. The figure holding their bonds would, once in a while, tug sharply on their chains, if only to get amusement from them stumbling. One time that their captor did this, Ginny tripped on a partially uprooted stone, and fell in the puddle ahead. For the rest of the journey through the alley, Ginny was left shivering in wet clothes, and the musky odor affiliated with the puddle, clung to Ginny like the Plague. It was all Ginny could do to prevent herself from bursting into tears._

_With a final, sharp tug, they reached the end of the alley, where a wagon of sorts, awaited. Two other cloaked figures appeared from around the sides of the wagon. The one that had captured Ginny and George held their chains aloft. Without a moment's hesitation, Ginny and George were being herded like cattle into the back of the wagon._

_After they were shoved brutally inside, the door to freedom slammed behind them, and the locking latch fell into place with a '_snick!'

_George and Ginny heard the footsteps of the strangers walking past outside, to the front of the carriage. With a jerk, the wagon plowed forward. Ginny tried to reach into her pocket, which held her wand, but with the way they were shackled, her hands couldn't even reach the mouth of the opening. She turned to her brother and asked him to try her pocket, but he wasn't able to fit both hands through the hole. _

_George and Ginny looked at each other, wondering what they'd gotten themselves into. The clucking noise had the two snapping out of their reverie. They peered about the interior of the wagon, veiled by darkness. After some squinting, they managed to distinguish a few moving shadows. _

_One such shadow deemed it safe to scurry from its hiding place to greet the newcomers. As the creature moved closer, Ginny and George were able to see what it was: a rooster. It crept cautiously toward Ginny and George, its jerking movements unsettling the girl slightly. _

_George looked at the fowl, a small smile curving his lips. He asked the cock, quite seriously, "So… how are you doing?" Apparently, the Silencing Charm had worn off._

_The rooster pecked at his shoelace in answer. "Oh? Not so good huh? That's understandable." George conversed. _

_Ginny whispered to George, "Your little friend there is probably on death row. These people will most likely have him for dinner. You know, roast rooster?"_

_George's handcuffed hands darted out to cover the rooster's head, which was small enough for his shackled hands to get around. He pointedly elbowed Ginny. "Not in font of him!" George let out a yelp as his newfound 'friend' karate-pecked him on the hand. Ginny shooed the bird away._

_The unsettled rooster disturbed the rest within the Coop-de-Wagon. Soon, chickens, and feathers, and bird crap were flying everywhere, and every which way. Ginny was shrieking madly, batting away clawed feet. George seemed to have lost it, laughing like a lunatic just released from the Looney Bin._

_A banging coming from the direction of the front, had all movement in the back ceasing. "Quiet back there! Otherwise, the chickens won't be the only ones roasting over a fire tonight!"_

_The voice of one of the men in front, seemed to calm the poultry, although, several were still attached to Ginny's arms, head, and stomach. Ginny would have totally failed as a scarecrow. The rooster was busily clawing its way up George's back, making sure to dig in, here and there, while some of the hens pecked at George's purple-pimples._

_Finally, the pair managed to de-roosterize themselves, and reoccupy their previous seats. Ginny turned morosely to George. "Ick! Look at what those beasts did to me! And one of them even laid an _egg_ in my hair, which, of course, cracked, and ended up making a mess of my hair!"_

"_Huh. That's odd. I thought that Harry's hair resembled more of a bird's nest." Ginny whacked him for that one._

"_Besides, Gin, I don't think that was an egg."_

_It was a very long carriage ride. _

_***_.

_Eventually, the wagon came to a complete stop. Ginny and George had closed their eyes, a mile or two back, trying to get some rest. They were jolted awake by the sound of the wagon door creaking open. The two red-heads gazed blearily at their three captors, the realm of dreams momentarily addling their minds. But the shock of reality slammed back into them, when their eyes were assaulted by a radiant light outside the wagon._

_Before either could say a word, they were hauled outside the confines of the wagon. As their eyes adjusted to the light around them, they were able to make out their surroundings. _

_They were in some sort of clearing, with dense forest and underbrush as its border. There were tents and other structures littered throughout the expanse of tree-free earth. The dazzling light they'd seen before, was actually a large fire set in the center of the clearing. Its flames crackled merrily into the night, spitting embers out gleefully. There were at least twenty or so hooded figures huddled about the fire, and, if Ginny had to guess, she'd say there were probably more in the scattered structures. They were at some sort of camp._

_Their sightseeing was rudely interrupted by the three captors pulling on their chains. They towed Ginny and George into the fire light, provoking the intrigue of their fellows. Ginny and George shrunk against their piercing stares. Finally, one of the fire inhabitants raised his voice in question, "An' wha' kind o' lot h've we got 'ere?"_

_The man that had yelled at Ginny and George earlier, spoke up, "Found this bunch wanderin' the streets of Diagon Alley." He gestured toward the older, slightly hunched figure that had caught Ginny and George, as he said this._

"_Ahh. Reckon they'll fetch us a fine price, do yah?"_

_They all seemed to eyeball George and Ginny with that statement._

"_With those kind of clothes? I'd highly doubt it. At the most, 5 Galleons each, if any at all," the Yelling-Man said. Ginny opened her mouth to reply indignantly, but a sharp elbow in her side, had her snapping her mouth closed tightly. She looked over at her brother; he shook his head in warning._

"_Gah! It's jus' like you ta brin' back a bunch o' homeless runts again! Yorick'll h've our 'eads 'cause o' you! Yah kno' we need all the mon'y we can get!" Hollered the same man from the group. _

"_Well, what should we do with'em?" The Yelling Man asked. _

_The man from the crowd waved his hand once, as if shooing a pesky bug, "Toss'em in with the ot'ers, 'til we're ready fer the ransom." Then the man sat back down, melding with the sea of black._

_George and Ginny were heaved, none too gently, toward one of the structures; apparently, their captors were not very pleased with the knowledge that their prisoners would fail to gain them a good profit. They were quickly pushed through the door, with the bolt sliding into place behind them._

"_Oh look, dear sis! Another dark, enclosed space trapping us!" George exclaimed with mock enthusiasm. Ginny rolled her eyes._

"_What do you think that man meant, when he said' with the others'?" Ginny asked George. _

"_Actually, I believe he said it more like: 'with the ot'ers'," George corrected his sister. Ginny's answering scowl was swallowed by the all-encompassing darkness._

_Their mini-argument was interrupted, as another voice bit through the gloom. "Shut up! They'll punish all of us, if they hear you!" The voice whispered fervently._

_George's eyes flashed, "I'll talk, if I _want_ to talk!"_

_The voice that had previously spoken, let out a small hiss. "Yeah? Well, hiiissssssssssss to you too!" George gave a sharp nod, feeling that the issue had passed. Instead, he was proven wrong, a second later, as the owner of the voice's left shoe made contact with the side of George's skull. He collapsed ungracefully to the floor. The voice snickered. _

_Ginny was about to tell the voice off for resorting to physically assaulting her brother, while simultaneously abusing perfectly good footwear, but a cold hand touching hers, banished the thought. Ginny gazed down at her still-shackled hands, but the only difference, was that the right was captured in another, smaller hand. Ginny peered into two, blue pearls within a small face, draped in dirty-blond hair. A little girl, about 7, or 8 years of age stood before her, clasping her hand tightly._

_The little girl opened her mouth to speak. "Miss, you can't talk, because _they _don't like it when we talk." Her eyes were pleading as she whispered this. Ginny, not being able to resist appeasing the cute child before her, nodded her head in assent. The little girl gave a weak smile, and slipped back into the shadows waltzing about the enclosed space. Ginny opened and closed the hand that the girl had held; it was as if the girl had never appeared._

_A soft whimper had Ginny leaping out of her thoughts. She crouched down where the sound was emitting from, and had to use both handcuffed hands, to cover George's mouth. "Ssshhhh!" she hissed in his ear._

_George's voice sounded muffled as he answered, "Oh, what? You're trying to shut me up now, too?" George's voice rose with every word he spoke in the sentence, until he was shouting the last word._

_Ginny was literally considering knocking her own brother out, when the door to their prison rattled open with a condescending crash. One of the black cloaked figures from outside, stormed in. "Will you impertinent little wasps SHUT UP!" Oh. It was no one they'd met yet. Yippee! _

_He closed the portal behind him, as he stalked the room with his wand held aloft, tip glowing softly. George had been silenced by now. The man crept into the more shadowed region of the enclosure, the shadows themselves stealthily slinking away as the light hit them. _

_Suddenly, the man's hand shot out, and grabbed a hold of something that found it far too late to flee. The man pulled the creature into the ring of wand light. His hand was gripping a wad of dirty-blond hair attached to a little head with sapphire blue eyes. Ginny nearly choked. _

_The girl whimpered slightly as the man's hold tightened considerably. "Oh. There, there, little girl. There's no reason to cry on my account," The man stated in a mocking voice. "You'd flatter me too much, because I haven't even done anything to you yet," He whispered close to her ear._

"_Now," he continued in a harder tone, "What have we told you about speaking? Hmmm?"_

_The girl took in a shaky breath before replying. "To not to."_

"_That's right," He purred, tugging sharply on her hair. The girl let out a yelp. "So why didn't you inform your new friends of this, eh?"_

"_I-I-I d-did, s-s-sir," the girl was tripping over her words by now._

"_Oh! So they refused to listen to you, did they?" His eyes momentarily darted in the direction where Ginny and George were. "Well, I guess we'll have to show them what happens when they don't follow the rules, huh?" The girl shook her head vigorously 'no'. "Glad you agree with me."_

_Ginny and George barely batted an eye, before the girl was writhing on the floor in pain, under the Cruciatus Curse. Ginny was about to jump to her feet to defend the girl, but she was beaten to the act, when one of the shifting shadows sprang from its shelter, toward the man and girl. "Stop!" It yelled. "Leave her alone! She didn't do anything!" The boy that had leapt from the shadows sounded just like the voice that had been arguing with George a little while ago. He also looked kind of familiar too. Where had Ginny seen him before? She couldn't recall._

_Even before he could reach either figure, the curse was turned on him. His body fell to the floor with a thud, convulsing madly as he screamed out his pain._

_Ginny couldn't take it anymore. She stood shakily from her position on the ground, and shouted, "Don't do that! Please, stop it! We're the ones who wouldn't listen to them!" _

"_Yeah," George chimed in, "Punish us instead!"_

_Apparently, the figure took their advice, because within the moment, Ginny and George were joining the torture party. The pain was like fire spreading through her veins. As the fire continued through her system, it left ice in its wake, freezing and burning Ginny at the same time. The sound of screaming could be heard dully in her ears; she wasn't sure if it was her, or someone else. Eventually she blacked out from the pain._

_***_.

_Ginny's mind awoke slowly, escaping from a place far away from where she was. _

_The first thing she realized was the hammering of hooves._

_The next, was that she was moving. _

_Third, it was dark. _

_Fourth, her wrists were still handcuffed._

_And, finally, she had a pounding headache._

_She sat up with some difficulty, in the carriage. Her eyes scanned the pitch blackness, but couldn't find what she was looking for. _

_A voice next to her ear had her jump a bit, "Ahh. You're awake, dear ol' sis of mine."_

"_George!" Ginny cried happily._

"_I am he," George said. "Funny, how that guy actually listened to what we said." Ginny silently agreed with George._

"_Hey, George," Ginny began._

"_Yeah?"_

"_Do you know where we're going and what happened to the other two?"_

"_I believe they're attempting that ransom, they spoke of earlier. They pried out of me where we're staying when they tossed us in here. Stupid Legilimins. _

"_But as for those other kids? I don't know. I passed out before that bloke finished with us. Sorry."_

_Ginny sighed heavily._

"_Say, Gin. Do you want to meet my newest friend?"_

_Ginny looked questioningly at George. George regally presented to Ginny a small white rat that he'd apparently found in the confines of the carriage. "His name is Fufu-cuddly-kins. I found him when he was chewing on my sneaker. Ain't he adorable?"_

"_Umm… Very… cute, George." Ginny struggled to find words to describe the abomination her brother held. _

"_When we get back, I was thinking of basing one of my new products off his fur. Great inspiration the little guy is." George continued to coo over his rat._

"_George, I say this because I love you. And I'm your sister and I care for you._

"_You've gone completely off the deep end! I mean, what on Earth could you use rat fur _for_? Here's some cuddly little muffs made of rat fur! They may be itchy and full of fleas and lice, and based off a creature that might have mange, but they sure keep your hands warm!" Ginny exploded._

_George had an alarmed look on his face at Ginny's explosion, which easily transformed into a crestfallen one._

_Seeing the effect of what she'd said, she immediately tried to repent. "I'm sorry, George. It's just all of this pressure and stress… it's getting to me, that's all. I think it's wonderful that you're trying to give that rat a home, but it's a wild animal, and he'd probably prefer to stay here." Ginny mumbled the last part to herself, "Plus, it probably has rabies."_

_George sighed, and released his rat. It scurried away and out of sight. "Bye, Fufu-cuddly-kins." _

_George and Ginny huddled together until they fell asleep._

_***_.

_Ginny was forced awake, as someone brutally yanked on her chains, forcing her forward, out of the wagon, and she then ate dirt. (It wasn't very tasty)_

_She looked up at her captor; it was the same figure that had captured them in the alley. The form held both Ginny's and George's chains. "I'm going to try for 20 Galleons. What do you say? Think you'll fit the bill?" The figure purred._

_She lugged them up the steps of Grimmauld Place and rang the doorbell…_

_***_.

End of Memory:

Hermione gasped for air as she flew out of the Penseive. _My word… No wonder why they were so cranky when they came home._ Those were the first thoughts to go through her head. Then, she did little calculations and estimations in her head. Each one of the carriage rides had to be 20 to 30 minutes each. Their time at the camp had to have been less than that. 15 minutes, maybe? She couldn't be sure.

Ginny had also left her memory of her confrontations with Mrs. O'Brady and Luna in Hermione's care. Hermione smiled at the thought of not only having a witness for the First War, but the Second, as well. She was especially shocked and fond of Luna's tale.

As Hermione dashed off to the library to record these findings on paper, she shared a glance with the clock. 11:10 PM

Where on _Earth _were Harry and her Ronniekins?

***.

Harry and Ron:

"Whew! Harry, I'll never know how we managed to luck out of that one!" Ron gasped beside Harry in a side street, a block away from the main entrance to the Ministry of Magic.

"I'll say!" Harry panted back, hands on his knees, back hunched over.

"Hey…Harry… Do you still have the file?"

"But of course," Harry purred, presenting the trembling file, still silently screaming out its anger at the intrusion. "Wow, Ron. That was a pretty strong Silencing Spell you must have put on it."

Ron blushed slightly. "Well, Hermione has been helping me perfect my spell work, especially now, being an Auror and all," Ron stated bashfully.

"Hmmm… Running for our lives from people we know and trust, can really bring out the hunger in you," Harry mentioned, absentmindedly patting at his stomach region.

"Uh-huh. I'll say! Why, the last time we ate something had to be at _least_ 6 hours, 45 minutes, and 36… 37 seconds ago," Ron muttered mournfully.

Harry let out a laugh. "Trust you to keep track of your latest meal by the seconds."

"Well… What should we do now?" Ron asked.

They both came up with the answer simultaneously, like a pair of telepathically connected twins. "Take Out!"

***.

It turned out that they ended up staying at the restaurant, whatever its name was. But the name didn't really matter. So long as their hunger was satisfied by delicious food, they wouldn't have cared if the name was "Winnie the Pooh's Piglet". (Which it was, in case you were wondering)

Ron had ordered spicy chicken wings, sausage with bacon, and a grilled ham and cheese sandwich. Harry had ordered onion soup, and fish and chips. They both had glasses of Iced Tea waiting impatiently next to their plates.

Within 45 minutes, the food and beverages had Apperated into their bellies. Harry and Ron both leaned back in their chairs, releasing satisfied sighs. "Harry, that was a very good meal," Ron told Harry, giving kudos to his friend. Then, Ron added on as an afterthought, "I wonder what time it is?"

Harry chuckled lightly at Ron's inability to spot the clock dangling from the far wall to their right. "Ron, I've got a riddle for you. What has two hands, always knows what time it is without the need of a watch, is there with you, whether you want it or not, and is hanging on that wall, over there?"

"Holy crap! They have Colin Creevey tacked to a wall?" Ron exclaimed, horrified, eyes widening in a comic manner.

Harry looked at his semi-rabid friend. "Oh, why did I even bother?

"I was talking about the _clock _on the wall, over there. Remember, you asked me what time it was?"

"Oh… So Colin isn't tacked to the wall?"

*sigh* "No, Ron. Creepy Creevey is not pinned to the wall."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Sooooo… What time does it say it is?"

"Err… 11:55 PM."

"…"

"…"

"…"

"…"

"…"

"…"

"…"

"…"

"….. Hermione is gonna skin us alive!" And without further adieu, the two dead boys Disapperated home, leaving behind a paid bill, and a lousy tip.

***.

With slightly glazed eyes, they landed, with a firm thud, on Grimmauld Place's doorstep. And, boy did their fates look grim, indeed.

The two boys had barely raised their hands to knock, when the door swung open. Apparently, Hermione had this uncanny sense, which told her when fresh-kill was around, like some type of whacked-out buzzard.

Hermione's eyes flashed dangerously, as they landed upon the two lone figures burdening the porch. She grabbed a hold of the front of their robes, hauling them inside the walls of the house. As Ron was being forced inside, alongside Harry, he had the sudden urge to cling desperately to the doorframe, and scream into the night, "Help! The monster is gong to get me!" But, he didn't. He knew matters would be worse if he did.

Hermione slammed the door to freedom behind them, the lock sliding into place with a sound of finality. Her back was to them, her front facing the door; she was taking in calming breaths.

"Hermione?" Ron ventured.

Hermione swirled around, voice cracking in the air like a whip. "Where were you? Do you have any clue how worried I've been? How much stress was adding to me with every tick of the clock that you weren't home?" Hermione gave a humorless laugh. "No. You didn't, did you? Oh, who cares if poor ol' Hermione grows gray hairs back home? So long as we get to do what we want… Gahh!

"Do you have any idea how unthoughtful all of that was? You completely disregarded the situation we are now in and the consequences that could come about, if we're caught. You didn't call. You didn't owl. You didn't Floo. You gave me no specifications of your conditions. Meanwhile, I have George and Ginny being hogtied and kidnapped, and being held for ransom! But, let's just let good little Hermione worry her head off, because we're Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley, and we can do whatever we please, without informing the people who care about us, first!" Hermione snarled, pinning the two in place with her death glare. Now, Ron was beginning to rethink his decision about the idea of screaming for help.

When Hermione opened her mouth to continue on with her tirade, Harry boldly cut her off, "Hermione, did you just say something about Ginny and George being kidnapped and held for ransom?"

"I did." She replied impertinently.

"Where are they now? Do you know who it was?"

"They're safely upstairs, resting. Though, they are a bit battered, and George is totally wiped out.

"As for your second question, follow me." With that, she led the pair into the drawing room, where a Penseive sat upon the table. Harry and Ron looked at Hermione. She gestured at the Penseive. With bravery the two did not quite feel, they glided over to where the Penseive sat, cold and waiting. Inhaling deep gulps of air, they plunged, head-first, into the Penseive. Hermione sat down on the couch she had occupied previously, and started filing her nails.

25 minutes later, and the duo were back in the drawing room. "There was some pretty messed up stuff in there," Ron commented. Hermione nodded in agreement.

Harry turned towards Ron. "Ron, do you remember what that one bloke said around that bonfire?"

"Yeah. Didn't he say something about… Yorick?" Ron's light bulb went bleeping on again. "Hey, you don't think…?"

"I do." Harry and Ron shared a look.

"What? What do you think?" Hermione demanded to know, annoyed that she was out of the knowledge loop.

"We believe that that was the camp of the last band of free Death Eaters; the ones still out to fulfill Voldie's wishes – the ones still out there to get me."

"Oh, bother."

**A/N: So, good chapter? Please leave your thoughts and review!**


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